Here you go, GB. Another Derry reflection..... Security was everything in the Province and yet, sometimes there were tremendous howlers resulting from stupidity and misunderstandings. I hadn’t been long in the unit at all, when I was detailed to go and see the Watchkeeper in our company Operations Room. He was a Sergeant, I forget his name (which is probably best,) but he cursorily handed me a wad of old Part Two Orders and told me to destroy them. They were restricted documents detailing the daily routine orders for all company personnel and they were potentially a very useful source of intelligence to an enemy. I knew that much, but what I didn’t know was how I was supposed to carry out his instruction. We had no document shredders back then and when I enquired how I was to destroy them, he curtly replied “Burn them.” It turned out that we had no incinerator and with growing irritation, he instructed me to use my initiative........ In short - “F*** off, you F.N.G. knob head – and do as you’re told.” I was clearly flogging a dead horse by employing the “if you don’t know, ask your supervisor for advice” policy that had been drilled into us in the training centre, so off I went to the rubbish skip at the back of the car park and finding that it had recently been emptied and that it contained only a couple of black bin bags at the front, I dumped the wad of Orders into the rear of it and set fire to them. They burnt really well and tidily, and confident that they would consequently all be consumed within a very short while, I left them before they were all completely incinerated. On reflection, that wasn’t a particularly smart move really, when all it took was a breath of wind to snatch a burning page and dump it onto the rubbish sacks. About twenty minutes later, the mortar alarm – which had only previously been tested- was sounded without any prior warning and the whole camp was stood to after a couple of low velocity shots were heard within the perimeter. A check of personnel revealed no casualties and failed to immediately identify the origin of the “contact”. The Quick Reaction Force was crashed out to check the perimeter fence and quickly found that a couple of bags of rubbish were smouldering away inside the rubbish skip on the car park, with the heat appearing to have caused a couple of empty aerosol cans amongst the garbage, to explode. When the full facts of the incident became clear, I thought for sure, that I was up to my neck in the sticky, stinky stuff, but actually, I didn’t get it in the ear nearly so badly as the Watchkeeper did – and f****** deservedly so, in my opinion - but I wisely kept well out of his way for a good long while! We seemed to be an odd, but useful resource to 8 Infantry Brigade. Our “re-arrest” role which provided an interface between the troops and the police engaged in the internal security effort had ended just before I arrived, but we still drove around in Landrovers that had white painted roofs – that particular oddity apparently stemming from the night that a patrol had been shot at whilst transporting a “re-arrested” senior PIRA figure to the RUC station in Strand Road, as a result of which the “powers that be,” had agreed to identify us more clearly. It was like a badge of honour rather than a “Don’t shoot at us” card and anyway, the bastards did still shoot at us, white roofs or not. We were a strange resource though; trained to infantry standards and doing a hundred hours (plus) each week despite being on two year tours, but not policing the troops as in other theatres and also, being too small in strength to be anything more than an additional asset to the Brigade. Hence, after the re-arrests ended, we struggled to find a role and got the Waterside by default of being stationed there. Within our Territorial Area of Responsibility (TAOR) however, was the patch containing the villages of Claudy, Feeney and Park. In the early years of the Troubles, there had been a tragic car bombing atrocity in Claudy that had resulted in the murders of several civilians, some of them children. A local Catholic priest (Father James Chesney) was widely suspected to have been the instigator of the crime – a fact kept secret and not confirmed until long after the Good Friday Agreement and the cessation of Op Banner, but for that reason alone, the whole area was regarded as a hotbed of terrorism, which wasn’t really the case. Anyway, it was out in the Kuds (very rural) and pitch black at night along the country roads. We would sneak about setting up “snap VCPs” (Vehicle Check Points) to try and catch anyone who was driving around up to no good or carrying items, or people, of interest. On my very first patrol out there, I was “shotgun” in the back of the rear Land rover of two. Whenever we stopped to carry out a VCP I was to play the role of “Back Stop”. I had to jump out with the caltrops (a spiky chain for pulling across the road to puncture the tyres of any vehicles attempting to rush the VCP) dash back up the road fifty yards and conceal myself in a position where I could both monitor the VCP and provide defence for it. I was mustard keen. I’d only just completed my NIT and NIRTT courses, where speed and enthusiasm in carrying out drills was encouraged. We carried out a couple of VCPs and then, when both vehicles stopped once more along a very dark country road, I was out and away back up the road with my sub machine gun and caltrops. Having prepared the caltrops, I backed into the bushes and got comfortable, I was then more than just a little perturbed to see the rear tail lights of both Land rovers disappearing into the darkness! I hadn’t got a clue where I was, except that it was probably rather hazardous territory for a lone British soldier to be in and if I hadn’t have grown up in the country, I would have been even more terrified, but as it was, I was desperately trying to mentally psyche myself up by thinking “It’s alright. I can escape and evade, and live off the land until I can find someone – and they’ll search for me in any case.” Then, whilst I was considering all this - and the very important fact that standing would perhaps be safer than squatting, given the way my stomach was churning, I saw headlights and heard the distinctive and comfortingly familiar whine of Land rover differentials, pelting back towards me. I was duly recovered and it transpired that the Brick (Patrol) commander in the lead vehicle had only stopped momentarily to consult with my vehicle commander and confirm that he was where he thought he was according to the map. Luckily, just after they moved off, my vehicle commander, Bob Tarvitt had turned to ask if I was okay, which was when they discovered me gone. Phew! Cancel the brown trousers for Corporal Jenkins…….
Posted on: Sat, 25 Oct 2014 19:00:57 +0000
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