Read Online Hateland by Bernard O'Mahoney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bernard O'Mahoney
Ads: Link
drinking a lot more. There was little else to do when you weren't working. A few of us even started bringing alcohol with us on night-time checkpoint shifts. I can't remember us ever being drunk on duty, with our loaded rifles, but four or more pints of lager mixed with adrenalin probably contributed to some of our more loutish behaviour. We used to joke that at least the booze helped us walk in zigzags, thus making us hard targets for snipers.
I started really enjoying myself on patrol or at checkpoints. I really did get into it. The more confident I got, the more enjoyable I found it. Some people should never be put in positions of power. I was certainly one of them. I began to relish the opportunities for confrontation, especially as the people who used to confront us tended to be around my age. I'd experience the same buzz I used to get from gang fights and I'd behave in much the same way as I did formerly. The difference now was that I wore a uniform, carried a gun and acted with lawful authority.
Of course, we knew such incidents bred hatred and helped swell the IRA's ranks, but we didn't care. Our overriding goal was to get back to camp, and ultimately to Germany, alive and intact. The future was someone else's problem.
We used to break into isolated houses. The purpose wasn't to steal stuff, although we did occasionally pinch small items, it was really to have a place to put our feet up for a few hours and watch TV, instead of footslogging through the countryside. If there was any beer or food around, so much the better, but we'd be happy just to find a comfortable sitting room where we could lounge on the sofa monitoring daytime television.
Before long, the tour was over and we were back in Germany, swapping war stories. I actually found myself missing the buzz of Northern Ireland. Over there, I'd lived in a permanent state of alertness. I'd really felt I was living my life wide awake. I suppose I was also missing Elizabeth. She'd ring me regularly In one of our phone conversations, we started discussing the possibility of my joining the Ulster Defence Regiment.
At first, I thought it was a mad idea. Apart from Elizabeth, there weren't too many UDR people I liked, and I knew my Irish- Catholic background discomforted the bigots. But I'd heard that quite a few English-born soldiers joined the regiment after serving in Northern Ireland. There was nothing else on the horizon for me, so I began to consider it seriously. After a few weeks mulling things over, I told Elizabeth to get me the application form. I was going back to Northern Ireland.
Before I left the army, I received my Certificate of Service. The range of Military Conduct Gradings is: 1) Exemplary, 2) Very Good, 3) Good, 4) Fair, 5) Unsatisfactory. I was given an 'exemplary' grading. Perhaps they'd hoped it'd guarantee me a job in Civvy Street and I'd never again don the uniform of the Crown.
CHAPTER 4
BRITS OUT
I arrived in Fermanagh for Christmas. It was good to see Elizabeth again, but I felt strange walking around as an ordinary civilian. I moved into her flat in the centre of Enniskillen.
Until that time, her mother, father and brother had been an invisible presence, appearing occasionally in conversation, but never in the flesh. That was about to change. I'd been invited to spend Christmas Day with them.
I knew her father was a retired RUC officer and that her brother had followed him into the police. I also knew her mother was a devoted follower of the Reverend Ian Paisley. She'd even stood unsuccessfully in council elections as a candidate for his party. Elizabeth had also told me how in the '60s her mother had wrapped herself in the Union flag and lain in the road to block a civil rights march by Catholics. She'd been shocked when police had removed her from the Queen's highway.
Beyond those bare facts, I knew little else. I got an inkling of troubled times ahead
I started really enjoying myself on patrol or at checkpoints. I really did get into it. The more confident I got, the more enjoyable I found it. Some people should never be put in positions of power. I was certainly one of them. I began to relish the opportunities for confrontation, especially as the people who used to confront us tended to be around my age. I'd experience the same buzz I used to get from gang fights and I'd behave in much the same way as I did formerly. The difference now was that I wore a uniform, carried a gun and acted with lawful authority.
Of course, we knew such incidents bred hatred and helped swell the IRA's ranks, but we didn't care. Our overriding goal was to get back to camp, and ultimately to Germany, alive and intact. The future was someone else's problem.
We used to break into isolated houses. The purpose wasn't to steal stuff, although we did occasionally pinch small items, it was really to have a place to put our feet up for a few hours and watch TV, instead of footslogging through the countryside. If there was any beer or food around, so much the better, but we'd be happy just to find a comfortable sitting room where we could lounge on the sofa monitoring daytime television.
Before long, the tour was over and we were back in Germany, swapping war stories. I actually found myself missing the buzz of Northern Ireland. Over there, I'd lived in a permanent state of alertness. I'd really felt I was living my life wide awake. I suppose I was also missing Elizabeth. She'd ring me regularly In one of our phone conversations, we started discussing the possibility of my joining the Ulster Defence Regiment.
At first, I thought it was a mad idea. Apart from Elizabeth, there weren't too many UDR people I liked, and I knew my Irish- Catholic background discomforted the bigots. But I'd heard that quite a few English-born soldiers joined the regiment after serving in Northern Ireland. There was nothing else on the horizon for me, so I began to consider it seriously. After a few weeks mulling things over, I told Elizabeth to get me the application form. I was going back to Northern Ireland.
Before I left the army, I received my Certificate of Service. The range of Military Conduct Gradings is: 1) Exemplary, 2) Very Good, 3) Good, 4) Fair, 5) Unsatisfactory. I was given an 'exemplary' grading. Perhaps they'd hoped it'd guarantee me a job in Civvy Street and I'd never again don the uniform of the Crown.
CHAPTER 4
BRITS OUT
I arrived in Fermanagh for Christmas. It was good to see Elizabeth again, but I felt strange walking around as an ordinary civilian. I moved into her flat in the centre of Enniskillen.
Until that time, her mother, father and brother had been an invisible presence, appearing occasionally in conversation, but never in the flesh. That was about to change. I'd been invited to spend Christmas Day with them.
I knew her father was a retired RUC officer and that her brother had followed him into the police. I also knew her mother was a devoted follower of the Reverend Ian Paisley. She'd even stood unsuccessfully in council elections as a candidate for his party. Elizabeth had also told me how in the '60s her mother had wrapped herself in the Union flag and lain in the road to block a civil rights march by Catholics. She'd been shocked when police had removed her from the Queen's highway.
Beyond those bare facts, I knew little else. I got an inkling of troubled times ahead
Similar Books
