A Shooting At The Pub

On Friday 24^th May 1974, Day 10 of the UWC strike we went, as usual, to evening Mass in Tannaghmore chapel. As always we were in good time and there was the regular group of men standing chatting at the chapel door. This had recently become an ordeal for me, passing those men, neighbours and family members, for I was 20 years old, six months pregnant and unmarried. Forty years ago this was no light matter. John Heffron and Uncle Sean smiled and nodded at me but Uncle Brendan was not on speaking terms with me and made no acknowledgement. This was hurtful but understandable. I'm sure, that if given the chance, once my daughter was born, he would have come round. Brendan had a great fondness for children and was a very well-loved uncle.

After Mass my parents went to visit Mum's family in Randalstown. The first hint of something wrong was a series of strange phone calls. My younger sister took the first call that alerted us to something badly wrong. A shooting at the pub. A neighbour called to the door and took my brother down to Randalstown to inform my parents. I took a call from a woman who did not identify herself.

“Is that Byrne's?”
“It is.”
“Tell Sean we'll be over for a carry-out.”

There was laughter in the background. It sounded like they were having a party. I took it to be a malicious call.

The younger children were hysterical with fear. They thought that maybe the gunmen were coming to our house too. I tried to reassure them. By the time the tragic news came to us the gang had left the Wayside Halt and were already in police custody.

The thing is, the RUC were well aware of the gangs' activity. They were a ramshackle band of UVF, UDA and other loyalists who had come down to our area to reinforce the strike. Around thirty in number, they were armed with cudgels and sticks and at least one carried a loaded firearm. A neighbour of ours saw them at their work in the Harryville area of Ballymena where they smashed up pubs that were open in defiance of the strike. Their way back to Belfast took them past the Wayside Halt public house and it was there that a gun was used to shoot my uncles. That is when the police went in pursuit. That neighbour reported their activities in Harryville at the time. Had the RUC moved in Ballymena my uncles would not have died that night.

So there it was. Two devastated widows, eight fatherless children, a community torn apart, a loss felt as keenly today as on that terrible evening 40 years ago.

That link above is well worth reading as it is my sister's account of the events of that night and there are details that I have not included here.

The Man From Nowhere and Other Stories

I often heard Matty refer to my father's paternal grandfather as 'the man from nowhere.' It is true that there does not seem to be much information about him, or where he came from. It does not help that his name, John Byrne, was very common in Ireland. Imagine then my pleasure to come across this little snippet on the internet. It's from the Catholic Journal, an American publication. This section was titled,

The date given was between 1900 and 1903 but I think these items dated from 1900-1901. My great-granny Byrne was a widow in 1901 according to the census records.

Good to know that the priest picked an apt subject for the sermon. "Death" always goes down well at a funeral. I'm also glad to inform readers that the little church in Tannaghmore is still as neat as ever it was. And it pleases me to know that my ancestor was charitable as well as mysterious.

But the death of a man, no matter how mysterious, is still a humdrum affair and I was glad to read other lively snippets from the island of Ireland.

Longford folk came across as lively enough. The Widow Boyle certainly displayed a zest for living.

And Michael Fury does not care a fig for the government of the day.

Nor did the Kerry people care a fig for the Royal family.

There was more of course. So if anyone wants to know what the nuns, the priests, the plain people of Ireland and the United Irish League in Drumkeeran, Leitrim were up to at the turn of the 20th century, here is the link. Enjoy!

A History

My sister wrote this. It is worth sharing.

Old Map of Cullybackey

This map was drawn by the Rev. Jonathan Townsley who was the minister for the United Free Presbyterian Church in Cullybackey. Click map to enlarge.

From 'Random Rhymes frae Cullybackey' by Adam Lynn, 1911.

The Prime Minister(s) and I

Winston Churchill – Winston had almost completed two years of his third term in office when I made my appearance. He had suffered a stroke a few months before I was born and this was kept from the British public as was the custom in those days. While Winnie was recovering from ‘exhaustion’, and little wonder for he’d had a tough old time of it with wars, rebellions and uprisings, I was learning to walk and talk and relishing being an only child. It was not to last.

Sir Anthony Eden – While Eden was making a horlicks of the Egyptian situation and fending off amorous overtures from France I got me a little sister who, while initially unwelcome, grew on me over time. While Eden was getting wrong footed by Harold Macmillan the sister and I were being terrorised by a pet ram. Thankfully the parents had the savage beast served up with mint sauce.

Harold Macmillan – Harold oversaw my golden childhood and I remember him well. I was under the impression that he was from the County Antrim him being a Mac and all. The years from four to ten were wonderful for me. The sun shone all summer long, in winter the snow was deep and crisp and even and Christmas was magical. There was always something good on television even if it was black and white. I acquired a further three sisters and a brother but I didn’t mind. As far as I’m concerned Mac never said a truer word than, ‘You’ve never had it so good.’ The Profumo Affair went right over my head.

Sir Alec Douglas-Home – Another brother appeared and life started to get a bit grim. Not the brother’s fault of course – more the 11+ and ‘working hard at school’ and ‘getting to the convent’ and bloody puberty. Douglas-Home lasted a year. People were getting tired of the Conservatives.

Harold Wilson – While Harold was getting the permissive society underway I was watching from the sidelines. Hating school, hating growing up, and navel-gazing - it all passed me by.

Edward Heath – British prime ministers were starting to impact on us Norn Ironers more because by now the Troubles were well under way. When Heath took office I was sixteen – when he left it I was pregnant with my first child. Of course Ted, allegedly a friend of Dorothy’s, had nothing to do with the pregnancy.

Harold again - One Saturday night about twelve weeks after Harold Wilson took office for the second time he was on television talking directly to the people of Northern Ireland. This was during the UWC strike during which time Loyalists brought the province to a standstill. During his speech he called us ‘spongers’ and referred to the murder of my father’s brothers that had taken place the previous night. Three months later my first daughter was born.

James Callaghan – Callaghan oversaw the Winter of Discontent and I had my second daughter.

Margaret Thatcher – Oh dear. We didn’t like her one bit. Started of calling her Milk Snatcher then taught our children to chant ‘Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out, Out, Out!’ but fuck the bit of her listened to us. During the Maggie years I got married, divorced, didn’t buy my council house and was a mad feminist. Then I met Bert, got my A levels, and began studying for my degree. Hannah was born in the middle of the Falklands War.

John Major - I completed my degree, passed my driving test and got all my kids to college. Went back to work myself. Meanwhile John, who I secretly fancied and admired, did sterling work in Northern Ireland.

Tony Blair – So delighted when he got in but my happiness didn’t last. During the Tony years I lived in the country, worked with homeless people and moved to this house. Tony went to war. I started this blog. Two of my sisters married a Glaswegian. Not the same one. Daddy died.

Gordon Brown – Since Gordon’s been Prime Minister I have gone to work, shopped at Lidl’s, made a plain dinner, watched people screaming at each other on TV and sipped Laphroaig.

What about you?