This post is part of a series of articles on the life of Captain Robert Nairac. For more information see The Secret Life Of British Captain Robert Nairac.

My research on British Army Captain Robert Nairac is as much about Nairac’s secret life (if, in fact, it existed) as it is about homophobia, discrimination, and ignorance.

I had been warned that my continued research on the person of British Captain Robert Nairac might cause criticism and threats, specifically from residents in the United Kingdom, and, as a matter of fact, I have already been through several rounds of such fruitless communications. As they say, “Insult is the weak man’s imitation of strength,” and most of the criticism I received was filled with insults. Any requests to contribute facts that would complete, correct, or even contradict my research went unanswered.

The tragic story of Nairac’s abduction and murder by the IRA will remain in the minds of family, friends, and admirers, but what struck me as odd was the total refusal to look deeper into the childhood of one of the most charismatic characters in the United Kingdom’s military history of the 20^th century.

In January of 2012, I contacted Dr. Eamonn O’Neill through his website and raised the topic of Nairac’s alleged homosexuality and possible physical or sexual abuse at Ampleforth College. It is fair to say that Dr. O’Neill was not at his best when he answered, not being familiar with proper etiquette of online inquiries. I admit that, during the course of our brief communication, I lost all respect I had for an investigative journalist of Dr. O’Neill’s caliber.

I was flabbergasted how quickly and how arrogantly he dismissed such an essential part of Nairac’s psyche that might ultimately answer all questions Dr. O’Neill raised in his “Shadow Man” article, provided one looks into the psychological side of the topic, which he refused to do, claiming lack of expertise in psychology.

Dr. O’Neill had a valid point, though, by expressing that unless he had documentary proof he wouldn’t dream of publishing any such information. That may be part of responsible investigative journalism, but his response also indicated that he was not interested in investigating the topic in any shape or form. My point is, if you don’t dig you won’t find any documentary proof.

But even more compelling, if not stunning is a statement by John Parker, the author of  Secret Hero – The life and mysterious death of Captain Robert Nairac, whose “compelling biography uncovers the truth of Nairac’s secret war and heroic death.”

In deference to his family, Robert Nairac’s personal and private life will not form part of this book, other than in passing references.
- Excerpt from Secret Hero – The life and mysterious death of Captain Robert Nairac by John Parker

This is, in fact, an extraordinary admission, given that Nairac’s obsession with Ireland, the circumstances of Nairac’s presence in Northern Ireland, and his army career were all dependent on choices he had made and which were influenced by his character and background.

Moreover, John Parker is a biographer who has written biographies of the Queen of England, Prince Philip, Sir Sean Connery, and many other celebrities. Is it not his job to write about people’s personal and private lives? Imagine for a moment a book about Winston Churchill that did not examine his personal and private life, but confined itself to his literary and political careers.

Given that Nairac has been demonized by Irish media, would this not have been a chance to set the record straight? So what was the family problem?

Nevertheless, there are, in fact, several references that address Nairac’s possible homosexuality (ranging from cautious indication to outright claim) and physical abuse during his childhood. The question is, however, what constitutes “documentary proof”? Nobody should expect to find explicit photos or personal letters, not even personal accounts from alleged lovers. If there was a secret life, it had to be, given the circumstances of the time and the lack of a support system, secret.

On June 10, 2001, the Sunday Mirror (London, England) published an article titled “Nel of liar; DNA tests disprove woman’s claims that spy Nairac fathered her child” about an unfortunate event sufficiently described by the title itself. Without going into the details of the case, let me quote a few lines from the article:

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac and related topics referring to the Irish Troubles on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

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THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

This post is part of a series of articles on the life of Captain Robert Nairac. For more information see The Secret Life Of British Captain Robert Nairac.

Nairac took on the role of liaison officer with 14 Int, linking Army and intelligence units and finding information in the “Intelligence desert” of the border area of South Armagh. Major Clive  Fairweather, who served in the top-level intelligence post of G2/Int inside the Lisburn-based British Army HQ in Northern Ireland, knew Nairac and is very clear that, despite many claims to the contrary, Nairac was never an SAS man. He was only attached to their unit and had never gone through full SAS training. (Source: http://www.eamonnoneill.com/shadow-man-an-investigation-into-robert-nairac/)

Nairac volunteered for military intelligence duties in Northern Ireland. Following completion of several training courses, he returned to Northern Ireland in 1974 attached to 4 Field Survey Troop, Royal Engineers, one of the three sub-units of a Special Duties unit known as 14 Intelligence Company (14 Int). Posted to South Armagh, 4 Field Survey Troop was given the task of performing surveillance duties. Nairac was the liaison officer among the unit, the local Army brigade, and the Royal Ulster Constabulary.

He also seems to have taken on tasks which were outside his jurisdiction as a liaison officer – working undercover, for example. He apparently claimed to have visited pubs in republican strongholds and sung Irish rebel songs and acquired the nickname “Danny boy”. He was often driven to pubs by now-Conservative MP Patrick Mercer, who was then an Army officer. Former SAS Warrant Officer Ken Connor, who was involved in the creation of 14 Int, wrote of him in his book, Ghost Force, p. 263:

Had he been an SAS member, he would not have been allowed to operate in the way he did. Before his death we had been very concerned at the lack of checks on his activities. No one seemed to know who his boss was, and he appeared to have been allowed to get out of control, deciding himself what tasks he would do.

(Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Nairac)

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac and related topics referring to the Irish Troubles on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

Advertisement

THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

When it comes to the military career of British Captain Robert Nairac in Northern Ireland between 1973 (especially since 1974 when he joined “The Det” or “14 Int”) and his death in 1977, one name surfaces on a regular basis, that of Robert John “Robin” Jackson, known as the Jackal. If all allegations are to be believed, then British Captain Robert Nairac may have been responsible for a great number of killings, including the Miami Showband massacre, the 1974 bombings in Dublin and Monaghan, and more. The allegations also imply that Nairac’s activities were not limited to Northern Ireland, but also the Republic of Ireland.

These allegations add to the picture that Captain Nairac, most probably unknown to and not approved by officials of the British Military, may have fought his own war, abandoning the rules he once respected, taking on tasks that were outside his jurisdiction, and “running” violent agents inside opposing paramilitary organizations.

Robin Jackson

Robert John “Robin” Jackson, known as the Jackal (27 September 1948  – 30 May 1998) was a Northern Irish loyalist who held the rank of brigadier in the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) during the period of violent religious and political conflict in Northern Ireland known as the Troubles. He is alleged to have organised and committed a series of killings against the Catholic nationalist and republican community, although he was never convicted in connection with any killing and never served any lengthy prison terms.

An article by Paul Foot in Private Eye suggested that Jackson led one of the teams that bombed Dublin on 17 May 1974, killing 26 people, including two infants. RUC Special Patrol Group (SPG) officer John Weir, himself a convicted murderer, also maintained this in a sworn affidavit which was published in 2003 in the Barron Report, which was the findings of an official investigation into the Dublin bombings commissioned by Irish Supreme Court Justice Henry Barron. Journalist Kevin Dowling in the Irish Independent alleged that Jackson had headed the gang that perpetrated the Miami Showband killings which left three members of the Irish cabaret band dead and two wounded. Journalist Joe Tiernan and the Pat Finucane Centre also alleged this as well as his implication in the Dublin bombings. When questioned about the latter, Jackson denied involvement. Findings noted in a report by the Historical Enquiries Team (HET) (released in December 2011) confirmed that Jackson was linked to the Miami Showband attack through his fingerprints which had been found on the silencer specifically made for the Luger pistol used in the shootings.

It was stated by Weir, as well as by other people including former British soldier and psychological warfare operative Major Colin Wallace, that he was an RUC Special Branch agent. It was also said he had links to British Military Intelligence and Captain Robert Nairac. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Jackson)

Links to Captain Robert Nairac

On 7 July 1993 the British television station Yorkshire Television broadcast, as part of First Tuesday series, the documentary Hidden Hand: The Forgotten Massacre, a programme on the 1974 bombings in Dublin and Monaghan.

It was stated by The Hidden Hand programme that Jackson had links to British Military Intelligence and Liaison officer Captain Robert Nairac. The Hidden Hand alleged that Jackson and his UVF comrades were controlled by Nairac who was attached to 14th Intelligence Company (The Det). Former MI6 operative, Captain Fred Holroyd claimed that Nairac admitted to having been involved in John Francis Green’s death and had shown Holroyd a colour polaroid photograph of Green’s corpse to back up his claim. Holroyd believed that for some months leading up to his shooting, Green had been kept under surveillance by 4 Field Survey Troop, Royal Engineers, one of the three sub-units of 14th Intelligence. This unit was based in Castledillon, County Armagh, and according to Holroyd, was the cover name of an SAS troop commanded by Nairac and Captain Julian Antony “Tony” Ball. Nairac was himself abducted and killed by the IRA in 1977, and Ball was killed in an accident in Oman in 1981. Justice Barron himself questioned Holroyd’s evidence as a result of two later Garda investigations, where Detective Inspector Culhane discounted Holroyd’s allegations regarding Nairac and the polaroid photograph. Culhane concluded that the latter had been one of a series of official photographs taken of Green’s body the morning following his killing by Detective Sergeant William Stratford, who worked in the Garda Technical Bureau’s Photography Section.

Weir made the following statements in relation to Jackson and Nairac’s alleged mutual involvement in the Green assassination: ”The men who did that shooting were Robert McConnell, Robin Jackson, and I would be almost certain, Harris Boyle who was killed in the Miami attack. What I am absolutely certain of is that Robert McConnell, Robert McConnell knew that area really, really well. Robin Jackson was with him. I was later told that Nairac was with them. I was told by…a UVF man, he was very close to Jackson and operated with him. Jackson told [him] that Nairac was with them”.

In his 1989 book War Without Honour, Holyroyd claimed that Nairac had organised the Miami Showband ambush in collaboration with Jackson, and had also been present at Buskhill when the attack was carried out. Bassist Stephen Travers and saxophonist Des McAlea, the two bandmembers who survived the shootings, both testified in court that a British Army officer “with a crisp, clipped English accent” had overseen the operation. However, when shown a photograph of Nairac, Travers could not positively identify him as the soldier who had been at the scene. Author Martin Dillon in The Dirty War adamantly stated that Nairac had not been involved in the Green killing nor in the Miami Showband massacre.

The Barron Report noted that although Weir maintained that Jackson and Billy Hanna had links to Nairac and British Military Intelligence, his claim did not imply that the British Army or Military Intelligence had aided the two men in the planning and perpetration of the 1974 Dublin bombings. While in prison, Weir wrote a letter to a friend claiming that Nairac had ties to both Jackson and James Mitchell, owner of the Glenanne farm.

The 2006 Interim Report of Mr. Justice Barron’s inquiry into the Dundalk bombing of 1975 concluded that Jackson was one of the suspected bombers “reliably said to have had relationships with British Intelligence and or RUC Special Branch officers”. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Jackson)

The 1974 Bombings in Dublin And Monaghan

Both [Robert Nairac and Julian "Tony" Ball] have been linked, for example, to the worst single day of atrocity in the entire Troubles: the 1974 bombings in Dublin and Monaghan, which killed 33 people (the 1998 outrage in Omagh saw 29 victims murdered).

Solicitors representing the families of victims of these bombs have recently examined secret British Army documents that leads them to believe British military intelligence groups used Loyalist groups as agent provocateurs. It is alleged that the bombs were planted by Loyalists aided by an “out of control” British Army intelligence faction seeking to show Dublin that if it wanted to share power, it would also have to share pain, and as a warning to the area to stop acting as a haven for Republican terrorists.

Certainly, the Garda (the Irish police) knew within 72 hours of the bombs being detonated that the cars used were from Loyalist areas of Northern Ireland. Within weeks they had identified prime suspects, all of whom were members of the Mid-Ulster UVF (and all of whom are now dead, many as a result of terrorist activities). Dublin passed tis information to Belfast but no arrests or court appearances followed. However, experts have agreed that the UVF did not have the expertise to organise the detonation of three car bombs within 90 seconds and with 100 per cent effectiveness; only a military operation could achieve that.

Government authorities in Dublin have secret papers that point to British military involvement. A Dublin solder told me British correspondence from the time suggests “the Dublin and Monaghan bombings had been connected to a group known as the Protestant Action Force, or Protestant Task Force, which was controlled by a special-duties team from the British Army HQ in Lisburn. It has been known for some time that a special British Army unit operated in Armagh in 1974 unter the title of 4 Field Survey Group.” Nairac was in that group. (Source: Shadow Man: An Investigation into Robert Nairac by Eamonn O’Neill).

Nairac’s Interest in Loyalist Paramilitaries

Tomorrow marks the 30th anniversary of the murder by the IRA of undercover soldier Captain Robert Nairac. A former UDR officer who worked with Nairac tells Stephen Gordon of his disturbing memories of the SAS-trained soldier and how his cavalier ways alarmed him…

Ex-UDR officer ‘Dan’ will never forget his first meeting with Grenadier Guardsman Robert Nairac.

It was during that meeting in 1975 that Nairac asked the Co Armagh-based soldier if he knew any UDR men who wanted to “take on the IRA at their own game”.

Their first journey into south Armagh followed an order by his operations officer to take a new ‘MILO’ (Military Intelligence Liaison Officer) on a ‘familiarisation’ tour of the Battalion area.

“I first saw Bob Nairac when he arrived at my home near Portadown, parked his car in the drive, walked up to the front door and introduced himself as Captain Charlie McDonald. He said he was based at Castledillon.

“He wanted me to take him around the area, point out known ‘players’, that sort of thing. But he insisted on using his car, not mine!”

Nairac was driving what the military referred to as a ‘Q’ car – or covert vehicle – that had a military radio fitted behind the ordinary radio and a microphone beneath the seat so the operator did not have to use a handset.

Dan said that from the outset it was obvious Nairac was well trained in counter-surveillance techniques.

“He knew the ropes. He was clearly no ordinary ‘MILO’. He was much sharper than any others I had met. He asked very different questions. I soon realised this guy was not the ‘rookie’ he wanted me to think he was.”

Nairac was particularly interested in loyalist paramilitaries like Robin ‘The Jackal’ Jackson from Lurgan.

(Source: Nairac: An undercover hero or a maverick fool?)

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac and related topics referring to the Irish Troubles on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

Advertisement

THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

Captain Robert Laurence Nairac GC (31 August 1948 –15 May 1977) was a British Army officer who was abducted from a pub in south County Armagh during an undercover operation and killed by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA) on his fourth tour of duty in Northern Ireland as a Military Intelligence Liaison Officer. He was posthumously awarded the George Cross in 1979. Whilst several men have been imprisoned for his murder, the whereabouts of his body remains unknown.

Nairac is one of nine IRA victims, whose graves have never been revealed and who are collectively known as ’The Disappeared’. The cases are under review by the Independent Commission for the Location of Victims’ Remains.

Robert Laurence Nairac

1948

Born: 31 August 1948 – Mauritius - Nairac was born in Mauritius to English parents. His family – long settled in Gloucestershire – had ancestors from the south of Ireland. His family name originates from the Gironde area of France. His father was an eye surgeon who worked first in the north of England and then in Gloucester. He was the youngest of four children, with two sisters and a brother.

1959

Prep School at Gilling Castle – Nairac, aged 10, attended prep school at Gilling Castle, a feeder school for the Roman Catholic public school Ampleforth College which he attended a year later.

1960 – ?

Ampleforth College - He gained nine O levels and three A levels, was head of his house and played rugby for the school. He became friends with the sons of Lord Killanin and went to stay with the family in Dublin and Spiddal in County Galway.

? – 1971

Lincoln College – Oxford – He read medieval and military history at Lincoln College, Oxford, and excelled in sport; he played for the Oxford rugby 2nd XV and revived the Oxford boxing club where he won four blues in bouts with Cambridge. There are unproven reports that, during this time, he was in a boxing competition which placed him against Martin Meehan, later a senior IRA commander, with whom he went three rounds. He was also a falconer, keeping a bird in his room which was used in the film Kes.

1971

Royal Military Academy Sandhurst - Nairac left Oxford in 1971 to enter Royal Military Academy Sandhurst under the sponsorship of the Grenadier Guards and was commissioned with them upon graduation.

1972

Dublin University - After Sandhurst he undertook post-graduate studies at Dublin University, before joining his regiment.

Military Career in Northern Ireland

1973

Second Battalion of the Grenadier Guards - Nairac’s first tour of duty in Northern Ireland was with No.1 Company, the Second Battalion of the Grenadier Guards. The Battalion was stationed in Belfast from 5 July 1973 to 31 October 1973. The Grenadiers were given responsibility first for the Protestant Shankill Road area and then the predominantly Catholic Ardoyne area. This was a time of high tension and regular contacts with paramilitaries. The battalion’s two main objectives were to search for weapons and to find paramilitaries. Nairac was frequently involved in such activity on the streets of Belfast. He was also a volunteer in community relations activities in the Ardoyne sports club. The battalion’s tour was adjudged a success with 58 weapons, 9,000 rounds of ammunition and 693 lbs of explosive taken and 104 men jailed. The battalion took no casualties and had no occasion to shoot anyone.

1st Battalion of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders - After his tour had ended he stayed on as liaison officer for the replacement battalion, the 1st Battalion of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. The new battalion suffered a baptism of fire with Nairac narrowly avoiding death on their first patrol when a car bomb exploded on the Crumlin Road.

1974 – 1975

14 Intelligence Company - Rather than returning to his battalion, which was due for rotation to Hong Kong, Nairac volunteered for military intelligence duties in Northern Ireland. Following completion of several training courses, he returned to Northern Ireland in 1974 attached to 4 Field Survey Troop, Royal Engineers, one of the three sub-units of a Special Duties unit known as 14 Intelligence Company (14 Int). Posted to South Armagh, 4 Field Survey Troop was given the task of performing surveillance duties. Nairac was the liaison officer among the unit, the local Army brigade, and the Royal Ulster Constabulary.

He also seems to have taken on tasks which were outside his jurisdiction as a liaison officer – working undercover, for example. He apparently claimed to have visited pubs in republican strongholds and sung Irish rebel songs and acquired the nickname “Danny boy”.

1975

Return to London – Nairac finished his tour with 14th Int in mid-1975 and returned to his regiment in London. Nairac was promoted to captain on 4 September 1975.

1976

Following a rise in violence culminating in the Kingsmill massacre, army troop levels were increased and Nairac accepted a post again as a liaison officer back in Northern Ireland.

1977

Nairac on his fourth tour was a liaison officer to the units based at Bessbrook mill. It was during this time that he was killed.

Died: 15 May 1977 – Republic of Ireland – Nairac was abducted from a pub in south County Armagh during an undercover operation and killed by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA) on his fourth tour of duty in Northern Ireland as a Military Intelligence Liaison Officer. He was posthumously awarded the George Cross in 1979. Whilst several men have been imprisoned for his murder, the whereabouts of his body remains unknown.

References

• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Nairac

~-~

Further information to be added when they become available. If you would like to share any additional information, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form.

References: See Captain Robert Laurence Nairac – References

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

Advertisement

THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

There were sixteen people who ‘disappeared’ during ‘the troubles’ in Northern Ireland. The Provisional IRA admitted responsibility for thirteen of the sixteen, while one was admitted by the INLA. No attribution has been given to the remaining two. To date the remains of nine victims have been recovered.

Joseph Lynskey
Joseph Lynskey was a former Cistercian monk from the Beechmount area of west Belfast. He went missing during the summer of 1972. His remains have yet to be located. Seamus Wright Seamus Wright was from Belfast and was working as an asphalt layer. He was married and 25 years old when he went missing in October 1972. Despite extensive searches undertaken by Commission in the Coghalstown area his remains have yet to be located.

Kevin McKee
Kevin McKee was from Belfast. Like Seamus Wright he also disappeared in October 1972. The Commission have carried out extensive searches in the Coghalstown area for the remains of Kevin McKee, as well as those of Seamus Wright, but his remains have yet to be recoverd.

Jean McConville
Jean McConville was a widowed mother of ten from west Belfast. She was 37 years old when she was abducted and killed in December 1972. In August 2003 her remains were found at Shelling Hill beach in County Louth.

Peter Wilson
Peter Wilson disappeared from his home in west Belfast in August 1973. He was 21 years old. His name was added to the list of the Disappeared in 2009 after new information became available. His remains were found at Waterfoot beach in County Antrim in November 2010.

Eamon Molloy
Eamon Molloy was abducted from his home in the Ardoyne area of Belfast in July 1975. He was named by the IRA as one of “the disappeared” in a statement issued by them in 1999. Following information received by the Commission in 1999, his body was discovered in a coffin left in a cemetery near Dundalk, Co. Louth.

Columba McVeigh
Columba McVeigh from Donaghmore, Co. Tyrone was 17 years old when he was abducted and killed in October 1975. He had been working as a painter in Dublin and had only returned to Northern Ireland a few days earlier. Although extensive searches, based on information received, have been carried out in Co. Monaghan his remains have yet to be recovered.

Robert Nairac
Captain Robert Nairac was an officer with the Grenadier Guards on a tour of duty in Northern Ireland when he was abducted in Co. Antrim in May 1977 and murdered. He was 29 years old. His remains have yet to be recovered. A man was convicted of the murder of Captain Nairac in 1977. Captain Nairac received a posthumous George Cross.

Brendan Megraw
Brendan Megraw was a 23 year old married man from west Belfast. His wife was expecting their first baby when he was abducted from his own home in April 1978. Although extensive searches, based on information received by the Commission, have been carried out his remains have not been found.

John McClory
John McClory was from west Belfast and was 18 years old when he was abducted and killed, together with his friend Brian McKinney, in May 1978. Following information received by the Commission in 1999 a search of the bogland at Colgagh, Iniskeen, Co. Monaghan was undertaken. After 30 days of searching, a double grave containing the remains of John McClory and Brian McKinney was discovered.

Brian McKinney
Brian McKinney was a Housing Executive Worker from Andersonstown in west Belfast. He was 22 years old when he disappeared in May 1978. He was abducted together with John McClory (see above). Following information received by the Commission in 1999 a search of the bogland at Colgagh, Iniskeen, Co. Monaghan was undertaken. After 30 days of searching, a double grave containing the remains of John McClory and Brian McKinney was discovered.

Gerard (Gerry) Evans
Gerry Evans was a 24 year old painter who disappeared in March 1979 as he was on his way home to Crossmaglen, Co. Armagh. In October 2010, following information received by the Commission, his remains were recovered from a site in Carrickrobin, Co. Louth. Gerard Evans was not included on the list of missing people issued by the IRA in 1999 and, to date, no group has admitted responsibility for his murder.

Danny McIlhone
Danny McIlhone was from West Belfast and went missing in July 1981. Two searches for his remains in 1999 and 2000 proved unsuccessful. However, following information received by the Commission, his remains were recovered in bogland near the Blessington Lakes in Co. Wicklow in 2008.

Charlie Armstrong
Charlie Armstrong was a married father of five from Crossmaglen in Co. Armagh. He was 54 years old when he was abducted and killed in August 1981 while on his way to collect a neighbour to go to mass. In July 2010 the Commission recovered his remains in County Monaghan. Charlie Armstrng was not included on the list of missing people issued by the IRA in 1999 and, to date, no group has admitted responsibility for his murder.

Eugene Simons
Eugene Simmons disappeared on New Year’s Day 1981. His body was found three years later (prior to the establishment of the Commission) on 24th May 1984 in a bog in Knockbridge, Dundalk, Co. Louth.

Seamus Ruddy
Seamus Ruddy, from Newry, was a 33 year old teacher of English in Paris, France when he disappeared in May 1985. In December 1995 the INLA admitted responsibility for his death. In February 1999 information emerged to suggest that his body was buried in Rouen, France, but despite searches having been carried out his remains have not yet been recovered.

Source: http://www.iclvr.ie/en/ICLVR/Pages/TheDisappeared

Click here to view the video on YouTube.

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac and related topics referring to the Irish Troubles on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

Advertisement

THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

Captain Robert Laurence Nairac GC (31 August 1948 –15 May 1977) was a British Army officer who was abducted from a pub in south County Armagh during an undercover operation and killed by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA) on his fourth tour of duty in Northern Ireland as a Military Intelligence Liaison Officer. He was posthumously awarded the George Cross in 1979. Whilst several men have been imprisoned for his murder, the whereabouts of his body remains unknown.

[1]  Robert Nairac
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Nairac

[2] Independent Commission for the Location of Victims Remains
http://www.iclvr.ie/en/ICLVR/Pages/TheDisappeared 

[3] Robert John “Robin” Jackson, known as the Jackal
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Jackson 

[4] Shadow Man: An Investigation into Robert Nairac
http://www.eamonnoneill.com/shadow-man-an-investigation-into-robert-nairac/

[5] Dublin and Monaghan bombings
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dublin_and_Monaghan_bombings

[6] Nairac: An undercover hero or a maverick fool?
http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/sunday-life/news/nairac-an-undercover-hero-or-a-maverick-fool-13903699.html

Further references to be added when necessary…

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

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THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

I had been warned that my continued research on the person of British Captain Rober Nairac might cause criticism and threats, specifically from residents in the United Kingdom, and, as a matter of fact, I have already been through several rounds of such fruitless communications. As they say, “Insult is the weak man’s perception of strength,” and most of the criticism I received was filled with insults. Any requests to contribute facts to the lives of Robert Nairac and his fellow colleague Julian “Tony” Ball that would complete or even correct my research went unanswered.

For the record, I, a German citizen living in New England, am in continuous and truly appreciated communications with a number of British writers of whom two served in the British Army during the time known as “The Irish Troubles.” And even though we don’t necessarily agree on all aspects of the conflict, the communication remains pleasant and professional, and that is the picture of the British people I will keep in my heart (and I will continue listening to British rock music).

On 14 December 2011 I received the following email with the subject “Slander on your website?”:

Dear Sir/Madam

I am referring to:

http://thebleedinghills.copperhillmedia.com/tag/robert-nairac/

Where it is stated: “Ball has been described as “a nasty bit of work — a psychotic …”

Is this the view of Copperhills Media or the author’s view from the distance of a comfortable sofa in Germany or New England?

I would like to see your evidence for this that you feel the ability to publish this on your website. This certainly does not fit my knowledge of the man, who won the Military Cross for bravery.

P.S. Tony Ball was the father of my best friend at school and we also have many links to the SAS regiment through my father’s role in the army; I can check your references on this.

I would like to know who my lawyer should get in touch with, yourselves or the author?

Yours sincerely,

Dr. [Name Removed]

There were a number of thoughts that came to mind, including that I don’t have a sofa in Germany, not even an uncomfortable one. I was also flabbergasted that Dr. [Name Removed] had the audacity to mention his lawyer, especially under the view that I wrote not about his father, but the father of his best friend at school. Maybe he wants to bring legal charges on terms of emotional stress. I also wanted to tell him that I am fairly certain that British law does protect freedom of speech and freedom of the press (technically, I am part of the press when I publish through my website) as does the United States of America (and Germany).

Again, all these thoughts and a lot more came to mind, but I decided to answer in my trademarked sober German manner:

Dear Sir,

Let me say, first of all, that I reserve the right of publishing our communication on my website.

In regards to your inquiry, please read http://www.eamonnoneill.com/shadow-man-an-investigation-into-robert-nairac/, especially the article (PDF file) on the bottom of the page and in particularly the paragraph:

“In 1974, ROBERT NAIRAC met Julian “Tony” Ball, a serving SAS man attached to 14 Int and operating out of South Armagh. Ball, an ex-Para, was described to me by one former colleague as “genuinely ruthless – and in some ways I think Nairac modelled himself on him.” Another source put it bluntly: “Ball was a nasty bit of work – a psychotic, I would say. He bit his fingernails down to the white half-moons and was living on his nerves continually, possibly taking drugs.”

I believe, my statement beginning with “Ball has been described…” is valid, and I did put the description in quotation marks.

See also http://thebleedinghills.copperhillmedia.com/from-the-author/ where I list my references.

Last, but not least, if you wish to contribute information on the person of Julian Ball, please feel free to do so. All I ask is to keep a professional attitude.

Regards,

Wilfried F. Voss

As of today, I have not received a response, but I will keep my breath until that legal letter arrives…

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac and related topics on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

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THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

Click on image to buy from Amazon.Com

The tragic story of Captain Robert Nairac’s abduction and murder by the IRA in 1977 has until now been shrouded in mystery. At last, John Parker’s compelling biography uncovers the truth of Nairac’s secret war and heroic death. Drawing on unprecedented first-hand accounts from senior army colleagues and IRA sources, John Parker reveals the answers to the questions that have haunted the imagination for so long. Source: Amazon.Com

About John Parker

John Parker has been a journalist and writer all his working life. To date, he has published 28 books in hardback which have appeared in 64 editions in the UK and more than 40 international editions. He has built a reputation as one of the country’s most respected military writers. His previous titles include The Gurkhas, The Paras, Commandos, SBS and Inside the Foreign Legion.

Review by Wilfried F. Voss

The life and death of Captain Robert Nairac is one of the most compelling stories related to the Irish troubles, regardless of which side you’re on. That being said, it is a pity, that the author fails to live up to the vast potential of this particular topic, especially considering that he tried to glorify the memory of Captain Nairac – as the title implies. Admittedly, the book is based on meticulous research, but the author might have been of better service to a greater readership had he considered adding more background information for those not familiar with all the details of the Irish Troubles.

In addition, the book’s relevance must suffer in view of a serious omission, namely the private and personal life of Robert Laurence Nairac. Let me quote:

In deference to his family, Robert Nairac’s personal and private life will not form part of this book, other than in passing references.

- Source: Secret Hero: The Life and Mysterious Death of Captain Robert Nairac by John Parker

This is, in fact, an extraordinary admission, given that Nairac’s obsession with Ireland, the circumstances of Nairac’s presence in Northern Ireland, and his army career were all dependent on choices he had made and which were influenced by his character and background.

Moreover, John Parker is a biographer who has written biographies of the Queen of England, Prince Philip, Sir Sean Connery, and many other celebrities. It is his job to write about people’s personal and private lives! Imagine for a moment a book about Winston Churchill that did not examine his personal and private life, but confined itself to his literary and political careers.

Given that Nairac has been demonized by Irish media, wouldn’t this have been a chance to set the record straight? So what was his family problem?

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

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THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

During the research for my novel The Bleeding Hills I stumbled upon the intriguing story of one charismatic character, British Captain Robert Nairac, an undercover agent active during the Irish troubles, and in May of 2009 I wrote a post titled Robert Nairac – Hero, Butcher, Homosexual…?

The interest in Captain Nairac was sparked by an article titled Shadow Man and written by Eamonn O’Neill for the Esquire Magazine. Let me quote:

British Army Captain Robert Nairac fought his own war on the streets of Seventies’ Belfast, heading out on patrol with a cowboy hat, trainers and a pump-action shotgun. His undercover activities won him both the George Cross and accusations of treachery, but doubt surrounds almost everything he did.

Source: http://www.eamonnoneill.com/wp-content/uploads/ROBERT-NAIRAC.pdf

Captain Nairac is generally described as charismatic and brilliant, but there was also a dark side to him, something that most of his contemporaries were unable to interpret.

“It’s simple: Nairac didn’t just stick his head in to the lion’s mouth - that wouldn’t have been enough for him. Instead, he had to go and stick it right up the lion’s arse.”

Source: http://www.eamonnoneill.com/wp-content/uploads/ROBERT-NAIRAC.pdf

Almost immediately after reading O’Neill’s fascinating article the thought came to mind that Captain Robert Nairac, in view of his tendency toward flamboyant appearances, might have been gay. The initial premonition was substantiated by further research represented, among other resources, by articles of which some hinted and others openly addressed his homosexuality.

There was also the topic of unexplained behavioral patterns that some described as a death wish, a view that is reinforced by accounts of his irrational, and in some cases outright suicidal activities, and this is not a typical gay feature. However, Captain Robert Nairac was also a devoted Catholic, and in Roman Catholicism, homosexual acts are considered contrary to natural law and sinful, while homosexual desires are considered “disordered” but not themselves sinful. For me, the conflict between being Catholic and being gay was sufficient evidence explaining his suicidal tendencies, and I left it at that.

Case closed; or so I thought. As of lately I have received information that provided a much more sophisticated insight into Nairac’s psyche, namely the “death wish” theory. I am at a point where I distance myself from that assessment. Yet still, in my very personal opinion, Captain Robert Nairac was gay.

Before I go into further details let me make a statement to counter potential accusations such as smearing the memory of a British soldier on one end or discrimination of gay rights at the other. I strongly support the view that homosexuality is not a mental disorder. In the same sense, a person’s sexual orientation is not a matter of choice; individuals have no more choice about being homosexual than heterosexual. I am heterosexual, but I accept homosexuality as a different form of life style.

My conclusion that Robert Nairac was gay is still a theory, and I am far from trying to cast a blame of any sort; my mere intention was to find an understanding of what was described as irrational behavior, a behavior that eventually led to the slaying of Captain Robert Nairac, a British officer with a bright future.

I am aware of the concerns and complaints from people who knew him and their demand to respect the Nairac family’s right to privacy. It is my belief, though, that everybody loses that privilege as soon as they happen to dwell in the limelight, voluntarily or not. The question is, what exactly put him into that position? I believe, it was his violent nature, or at least the records – right or wrong – thereof. The fact remains that he is now, for tragic reasons, public property and therefore arguably a legitimate subject for research.

Available records of Robert Nairac’s life (including John Parker’s Biography “Secret Hero”) have mostly ignored his secret personal life, which represents an extraordinary omission, given that Nairac’s obsession with Ireland, the circumstances of Nairac’s presence in Northern Ireland, his army career, and, most importantly, his death were all dependent on choices he had made and which were influenced by his character and background.

Keeping in view Nairac’s role and accomplishments in the Irish conflict, it is only logical to penetrate to some extend the mystery about him and his fate. Nothing that may be unearthed during this investigation can take away from the image we already have of an extraordinary man.

Everything you read about British Captain Robert Nairac on this website represents my very personal view and research on the topic. If you deem my findings objectionable or in err, please feel free to leave a comment below or write to me directly by using this website’s contact form. The same applies for any comments, in favor or not, and for information you would like to share. All I ask, is to keep a professional attitude on the subject.

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THE BLEEDING HILLS
A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

Click on image to buy from Amazon.Com

A real life former field officer, Matthew Dunn makes an extraordinary debut with Spycatcher, a masterwork of international espionage fiction that crackles with electrifying authenticity. Fans of Daniel Silva, Robert Ludlum, Brad Thor, and Vince Flynn will be on the edge of their seats as intelligence agent Will Cochrane—working on a joint covert mission for the CIA and MI6—sets out to capture a brilliant and ruthless Iranian spy. Timely and gripping, Spycatcherrockets the reader into a shadowy world of terrorism and counter-terrorism, and holds them in an iron grip until the last pulse-pounding page is turned.

Matthew Dunn spent years as an MI6 field operative working on some of the West’s most clandestine missions. He recruited and ran agents, planned and participated in special operations, and operated deep undercover throughout the world. In Spycatcher he draws on this fascinating experience to breathe urgent, dynamic new life into the contemporary spy novel.

Featuring deft and daring superspy Will Cochrane, Dunn paints a nerve-jangling, bracingly authentic picture of today’s secret world. It is a place where trust is precious and betrayal is cheap—and where violent death is the reward for being outplayed by your enemy.

Will Cochrane, the CIA’s and MI6’s most prized asset and deadliest weapon, has known little outside this world since childhood. And he’s never been outplayed. So far…

Will’s controllers task him with finding and neutralizing one of today’s most wanted terrorist masterminds, a man believed to be an Iranian Revolutionary Guard general. Intending to use someone from the man’s past to flush him out of the shadows, Will believes he has the perfect plan, but he soon discovers, in a frantic chase from the capitals of Europe to New York City, that his adversary has more surprises in store and is much more treacherous than anyone he has ever faced—and survived—up to now.

Editorial Reviews

“Great talent, great imagination, and real been-there done-that authenticity make this one of the year’s best thriller debuts.”
—Lee Child

“Not since Fleming charged Bond with the safety of the world has the international secret agent mystique been so anchored with an insider’s reality.”
—Noah Boyd, New York Times bestselling author of Agent X and The Bricklayer

“A real spy proves he is a real writer—and a truly deft and inventive one. Spycatcher is a stunning debut.”
—Ted Bell, New York Times bestselling author of Warlord

Review

Will Cochrane is a spy on the MI6 payroll. But not just any old pedestrian spy. He is “Spartan”, Britain’s only super-spy. And he’s good. He’s very, very good.

MI6 and the CIA know that Iran is plotting a large terrorist event, but don’t have details. Cochrane starts with a small lead and is soon on the trail of Megiddo, who runs not only Iran’s terrorist operations, but has a finger on nearly every terrorist activity in the world. Time is very much of the essence, and Cochrane zips across the globe, slowly unravelling an incredibly elaborate scheme.

Things move fast, and Cochrane is brilliant but not infallible, which makes everything far more interesting. He’s sort of a modern day James Bond, but less debonair and more callous. The plotting here is devious and believable, so much so that Megiddo could well have been based on a real person. I’ve been to some of the locales, and they are all authentically described. As hair-on-fire spy thrillers go, this has a lot going for it.

My main problem is with Cochrane. Much like Clive Cussler’s “Dirk Pitt” character, he absorbs damage that would cripple any normal human, and keeps right on going. Early on, he’s shot three times, with exit wounds through the abdomen. The next day he’s up and walking, two days later he’s moving at nearly full speed. Another time he’s shot through the shoulder, seriously enough that his left arm is hanging uselessly by his side. A day later, he uses his left hand to strangle a strong man to death. He’s about one step away from being a T-1000 cyborg unit, and that detracts from an otherwise tight story.

This book is just a hair short of being great. Make Cochrane more believably human and this series will be unstoppable. Count me in for the next few installments; I can’t wait to see where this is all headed!  - Timothy J. Mccarthy, Amazon.Com Customer Review

Book review: ‘Spycatcher’ by Matthew Dunn

The Washington Post Book Review – September 2, 2011 (Excerpt)

First-time novelist Matthew Dunn brings an impressive background to the world of espionage fiction: A veteran field operative for MI6, Britain’s intelligence service, he ran covert operations around the globe, boasting 70 successful missions. Surely such behind-the-scenes expertise would translate into grippingly realistic fiction, right?

At times, “Spycatcher” delivers just that: terse conversations infused with subtle power plays, brutal encounters among allies with competing agendas, and forays into hostile territory orchestrated for clockwork efficiency but vulnerable to deadly missteps.

When “Spycatcher” opens, messages intercepted by the National Security Agency reveal an imminent assault against Western interests. A joint endeavor between the CIA and MI6 pits British agent Will Cochrane against the plan’s mastermind, the shadowy Megiddo, a top-ranked officer in Iran’s Revolutionary Guard. Cochrane sets out to lure Megiddo into the open or else be captured himself and likely tortured — whatever it takes to get closer to his prey. Cat-and-mouse games ensue, with no certainty as to who’s playing whom. Cochrane’s chief asset is a Paris-based journalist who was Megiddo’s lover during the Bosnian War. Cochrane is also joined by a quartet of American operatives whose collective résumé includes stints with the Navy SEALs, the Green Berets and Delta Force — providing the jaws of a ferocious mousetrap. [Read the full article...]

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The Bleeding Hills

A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

Click on image to buy from Amazon.Com

A veteran writer offers this centennial history of the two almost legendary British intelligence agencies, MI5 (foreign) and MI6 (domestic). Founded during the run-up to World War I, they have served the British Crown with varying degrees of skill and success in all the political conundrums and crises since. They have also been gold mines for thriller writers. As an author of intelligence-related fiction and nonfiction (e.g., Gideon’s Spies: The Secret History of the Mossad, 3d ed., 2007), Thomas bring to the agencies’ histories a high level of expertise, a fluent style accessible to lay reader and expert alike, and a combination of frankness and balance about some of his subjects’ less glorious chapters. Those involve such things as the Soviet mole during the post–World War II era, the ongoing tension with the CIA, and the problem of deciding whether operations against the IRA and more recent terrorist groups are foreign or domestic. A good basic book on its subjects. – Booklist

Two famous British institutions will celebrate their centenaries in 2009: the Security Service and the Secret Intelligence Service, better known as MI5 and MI6. They maintain an aura of secrecy, a touch of sophistication and a hint of melodrama even in this age of populist candor. Thomas (Descent into Danger), who enjoys justified respect as an authority on the intelligence world, has a broad spectrum of contacts and confidants in both services. He taps their memories and insights in this reconstruction of Britain’s intelligence operations from the Age of Empire through the cold war and into today’s constantly metamorphosing Islamic challenge. The emphasis on personal evidence at the expense of archival sources gives the work an anecdotal tone and a contemporary focus that makes the subtitle misleading. Both are compensated for by the immediacy of the material and the vividness of the narration, presenting a fascinating cast of moles and double agents, whistle-blowers and politicians. For the ambience of the closed world that inspired James Bond and George Smiley, this book is a winner. – Publishers Weekly

Review

Inside British Intelligence is described by its publisher as “the definitive and up-to-date history of two of the oldest and most powerful secret services in the world” though it has no source notes, has very little on M15 and M16 before 1990 – and what there is is unfamiliar only because it is often inaccurate – and is largely devoted to the activities of Mossad and CIA.

There is no mention of important British intelligence episodes such as the Zinoviev letter which influenced the outcome of the 1924 election, the breaking of Enigma, the Venlo incident where two SIS officers were captured at the outbreak of war, the Profumo Affair, Buster Crabb, the running of Penkovsky and his role in the Cuban missile crisis and the intelligence services role in Empire. All very curious.

Mr Thomas a self-styled “leading expert on the intelligence community” knows a great deal about what people wore (suits “tailored by Gieves & Hawkes, a hand-sewn shirt with double cuffs and his Travellers Club tie” etc), what they said, thought, ate and drank at particular moments but is less certain in other areas: sometimes Century House is the headquarters of M15 (p.208 and 255) and sometimes correctly M16 (p.286); sometimes Sir Christopher Curwen is head of M15 (p.216)and sometimes rightly M16 (p.195); Vernon Kell is head of MI6(p.421) and sometimes accurately M15(p.78); the M15 chiefs Stella Rimington and Patrick Walker also mysteriously work for M16 (p.177 and p.255). Maybe Mr Thomas knows something we don’t?

He makes much of his `prime sources’ which for the UK are: Eddie Chapman, a low-level World War Two agent who died aged 83 twelve years ago; the former M16 officer Richard Tomlinson who claims Princess Diana was murdered by British Intelligence and the former M15 couple Annie Machon (who believes Mossad was behind the bombing of the Israeli Embassy in London in 1994) and David Shayler (who has declared himself the messiah after having discovered eternal life). For some reason, Mr Thomas prefers these accounts to the thousands of readily available M15 documents declassified over the last twenty years.

He cites an extensive bibliography but doesn’t appear to have consulted the books himself . A few pages about The Cambridge Spies, extensively chronicled in numerous books, gives a flavour of the Thomas interpretation of history : Kim Philby’s father St John Philby is called Sir Harry Philby, Kim is a member of the Apostles (he was not) and is recruited at Cambridge (he was not) is a fluent Spanish speaker (he was not) and appears to defect from Britain rather than is commonly assumed Beirut. Maclean begins his spying career in 1938 some three years after the generally accepted date of his recruitment and his London apartment is bugged though in truth he didn’t have one and commuted from just outside London.

Guy Burgess is described as a counterintelligence officer (he wasn’t), serves alongside George Blake in the Far East Department (he doesn’t) , his outrageous behaviour in Washington leads to calls for his recall in the summer of 1950 (he only arrived in August 1950) ; he is ordered to leave America “within forty-eight hours” of engineering traffic violations to warn Maclean( the violations take place in February1951 , have nothing to do with his departure and he leaves in May 1951), he returns to “a job in the Foreign Office” (he doesn’t) etc. Blunt is identified by the press as `the Third Man’ thirty years earlier than the reality. You get the picture.

The book, a series of incorrectly spelt names, discredited conspiracy theories and repetitious, often completely fabricated, stories the purpose of which it is sometimes difficult to ascertain, jumps around in time and location with no central narrative and it is difficult to ascertain at whom it is aimed since readers new to the subject will be baffled and those with some knowledge will be exasperated. One can only assume in this wilderness of mirrors that a deeper deception game is being played by the proof reader and our intelligence expert, a winner, as he proudly states , of “the Mark Twain Society Award for Reporting Excellence and an Edgar Allan Poe Award for Investigation” to confuse us when the official histories of M15 by Christopher Andrew and M16 by Keith Jeffery appear later this year and next. That can be the only explanation for this farrago of nonsense. – Andrew Lownie, Amazon.Com Customer Review

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The Bleeding Hills

A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

Click on image to buy from Amazon.Com

Amazon Exclusive: Olen Steinhauer Reviews “Carte Blanche”

Source: Amazon.Com

Olen Steinhauer’s latest novel, The Nearest Exit features former CIA agent Milo Weaver, whose story began in the New York Times bestselling thriller, The Tourist. His previous work includes a pentalogy of thrillers set during the Cold War, beginning with The Bridge of Sighs and concluding with Victory Square.

How do you bring a character created in 1953 into the modern world without disappointing that character’s millions of followers in the process? This was the challenge faced by Jeffery Deaver when Ian Fleming Publications handed him the responsibility of writing the next official James Bond novel, Carte Blanche. I don’t know how I would have done it, but I do know one thing—Deaver, a specialist in the art of crafting nail-biting suspense, has done it better than I ever could have.

It’s a tightrope walk, balancing the tradition with the requirements of contemporary life, and Deaver handles it with panache. Beautiful women with unlikely but mesmerizing names? Check. (See Ophelia Maidenstone and Felicity Willing.) A top-drawer set of wheels with occasional soliloquies to its grace and power? Check. (The Bentley Continental GT coupé, in this case.) M, Moneypenny, Mary Goodnight, Bill Tanner, Felix Leiter? Check on all counts. A drink on hand that requires extra care from a bartender, but has yet to be named? Check. License to kill? Check, but under a different name: carte blanche.

How about the subtly and unsubtly perverse villains? Naturally, and they come in two sharply defined forms: Niall Dunne, “The Irishman,” a brilliant tactician who brings to mind From Russia With Love’s Kronsteen, and his boss, Severan Hydt, the head of a global refuse-collection empire, whose love of decay in all its forms borders on necrophilia. Time spent with Hydt will make you long for a shower.

But what the Fleming aficionado will inevitably notice here are the differences, which turn this latest escapade into what feels, and should feel, like one of those things that are very popular these days: a reboot.

James Bond, a veteran of Afghanistan, is an ex-smoker. Despite run-ins with an MI5 twit named Percy Osborne-Smith, this Bond is more of a team player than I remember him ever being. But where one really notices the encroachment of the contemporary world is in his relations with women. James Bond has become . . . sensitive?

Actually, yes, but never to the point of priggishness. The hard Bond remains, but it’s a different world than it was in 1953, and the women in Carte Blanche—the Bond girls, if you will—are of equal measure to the men. Ophelia Maidenstone, a coworker at ODG (Overseas Development Group, tenuously connected to MI6), besides being ravishingly beautiful, is indispensible—without her, Bond would be dead in the water. And when romance begins to bloom between them we find that, even after he’s left town, she remains, haunting his thoughts so much that after a night with another woman Bond feels, of all unlikely things, guilt.

If this seems very un-Bond, it is, but it’s a testament to Deaver’s strength as a storyteller that the reader so easily accepts that this is Fleming’s world 2.0, and it’s just as dangerous and exciting as it was when Le Chiffre glared from across a card table.

Don’t run from this new world, aficionado, for you’ll be rewarded. Not only with a gripping installment, but with a fascinating subplot concerning Bond’s parents, one that not only piques the reader’s interest but, by the end of the novel, begs for a continuation in the next Bond adventure. This new Bond may be a modern man, but his roots are deep in the past, and if Carte Blanche is any indication, the past will soon catch up with him. I, for one, will gladly be on hand to witness that confrontation.

Editorial Reviews

“Deaver, as fans of his Lincoln Rhyme and Kathryn Dance thrillers would expect, has clearly done his homework. . . . the most impressive feature of Carte Blanche is the ingenuity of the breathless, blood-thirsty plot. A master of misdirection, Deaver manufactures more surprises than anyone flogging an old warhorse can be expected to produce. . . . Kingsley Amis, John Gardner and Sebastian Faulks are among those who have tried to bring Bond back to life. Deaver, though, is in a class of his own: nobody’s done it better.”—The Evening Standard (London)

“There have been other Fleming impersonators, including Kingsley Amis and Sebastian Faulks, but the author of The Bone Collector is the biggest international name to take the job. He is also one of the world’s smoothest, most devious, thriller writers – a far better craftsman than Fleming, in fact. So could he assume Fleming’s identity rather than write another Jeffery Deaver novel only with a hero called Bond? And could he, for that matter, resist thriller publishing’s current obsession with relentless action inspired by the success of the Bourne movie franchise – and indeed Quantum Of Solace? The answers are emphatically “Yes.” Deaver preserves his book’s timeless feel by largely ignoring modern geopolitics and pitting Bond against a traditionally barking villain . . . [and] adds a series of twists that reveal a Bond with more Sherlockian intelligence than Fleming’s.”—The Telegraph (London)

“Fleming was a master of succinct plotting and deft characterization, his books deceptively slim but containing so much. Deaver too is a genius and this publishing marriage was truly made in heaven. Bond fans will enjoy Deaver’s slightly mischievous take on Ian Fleming. Deaver fans will enjoy the taut plotting and the action scenes and, by the way, it is going to make a great movie.”—The Sunday Express (London)

“Carte Blanche,” Jeffery Deaver’s James Bond novel

The Washington Post Book Review – June 17, 2011 (Excerpt)

When we think of James Bond, we picture the cinematic version: a man parachuting, guns blazing, into exotic locations; fancy clothes, big breasts, hard biceps, shiny diamonds; and untrustworthy roulette wheels spinning amid an intoxicating blend of sexiness, sophistication and danger. Bond’s creator, Ian Fleming (1908-1964), unwittingly laid the foundation within his novels for the movies’ bombastic interpretation of Bond’s character, though his writing presented a more reflective and at times darker protagonist. Even so, Fleming’s Bond and the cinema’s version of him did share a playful approach to the world of espionage. In Fleming’s case, this was derived from his career as a Naval Intelligence officer in World War II, when he was involved, albeit at a distance, in the reckless, frequently barmy and often victorious escapades of real British spies. No doubt he also saw the gritty and grimy side of spying, though he chose to eschew that in his books in favor of delivering playboy espionage to a shell-shocked and impoverished 1950s readership.

Jeffery Deaver’s “Carte Blanche” — the latest installment in the immortal franchise — brilliantly captures Fleming’s bitten-off, occasionally distracted, Boy’s Own style. The opening chapters take us straight into the action. A thirty-something Bond is in Serbia, monitoring a nasty piece of work (an Irishman called Niall Dunne) and a dangerous piece of machinery (a train carrying a deadly cargo). When the operation goes wrong, Bond has to escape from the country and get back to London. [Read the full article...]

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A Novel by John Patrick Doyle

A Peeping Tom Goes Nuts Over A Blind Girl

Paul Kirk is a librarian and one of his town’s quirkier residents.  In a childhood home lacking parents (his mother dying of MS and his father an alcoholic) Paul had imagined himself a member of the neighboring family. Now in his late twenties, Paul vicariously participates in the households of his community. His peeping-Tom proclivities express his awkward need for social bonding.

Then Paul meets Bronwyn, a counselor who is lovely, independent and blind. She has inherited her Aunt Phyllis’ house and is newly arrived in town. When Paul first sees Bronwyn at church, he knows he wants to be part of her life. As the mystery of Aunt Phyllis unfolds, Bronwyn and Paul become more deeply involved as they learn about Phyllis’ secrets and how they relate to Bronwyn and her past, but Paul’s peeping ways may ruin it all. [Read more...]

Boiled Peanuts is available through Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Noble, and any other good bookstore.

In my novel The Bleeding Hills I raise the view that conservative powers, including those of the British security establishment, are, in a passive aggressive way, not interested in upholding the Good Friday agreement, and, in all consequence, refuse to support lasting peace in Northern Ireland.

In my book I also refer to Tony Blair as “the first prime minister with a brain.” In fact, Tony Blair, despite his failure of handling the Iraq question, was the first prime minister who successfully established peace in Northern Ireland, which included the disarmament of paramilitary organizations of both sides, Protestant and Catholic.

The events of Bloody Sunday, almost 40 years ago, were particularly damaging to Britain’s reputation as was the Widgery report which is widely – even in Great Britian – considered a white-wash. I am counting that the Saville report, which will be released today, will provide an objective finding of what really happened during the events of Bloody Sunday. After all those years it is not a matter of pointing to the guilty; this is a matter of admitting a wrong-doing that shouldn’t have happened and never should happen again. In order to make a better future we need to learn from the past – See above quote by George Bernard Shaw.

My view that conservative powers and the British security establishment are not interested in finding the truth are, with the upcoming Saville report, being confirmed on a daily basis – See the Guardian’s article below and read my post Bloody Sunday – Saville Report Will Be Published.

Bertie Ahern says security chiefs pressed Tony Blair not to call inquiry

Guardian.co.uk – Monday 14 June 2010

Britain’s security establishment tried to dissuade Tony Blair from agreeing to the Bloody Sunday inquiry, the former Irish prime minister Bertie Ahern said today. Ahern, who was taoiseach at the time the Saville inquiry was set up in early 1998, also said its creation had helped build nationalist confidence in the Northern Ireland peace process.

The inquiry’s long-awaited report into the killing of 14 civil rights marchers by British paratroopers in Derry in 1972 will be published at 3.30pm on Tuesday in Derry and London. The 5,000-page, 10-volume report took 12 years to compile, at a cost of almost £191m.

Ahern said its impact on the peace process had been critical. “It was immensely important because at that time we were trying to build confidence and help the people of Derry, who had been dealing with this for years,” Ahern said.

Martin McGuinness, the former IRA chief of staff who is now Northern Ireland’s deputy first minister, today denied claims that he had told Blair an apology from London over Bloody Sunday would be enough. The Sinn Féin MP said the assertion by Jonathan Powell, Blair’s chief of staff in Downing Street, that McGuinness told Blair a multimillion-pound inquiry was not necessary was “erroneous.”

In his book Great Hatred, Little Room, Powell alleges McGuinness made the observations to Blair during secret talks. But McGuinness said: “The citizens of Derry, to a man and woman, want Saville to make it absolutely clear that the 27 people who were shot on that day – murdered and injured – were completely innocent people and that those people who inflicted those deaths and injuries were the guilty parties.” In evidence, McGuinness told the inquiry that on Bloody Sunday he was adjutant of the Derry IRA.

Read the full article…

A car bomb exploded early this morning on the outskirts of Belfast, timed to coincide with the transfer of power as the Stormont parliament took over judicial and policing powers at midnight. Northern Ireland now has its first justice minister in nearly four decades.

A spokesman for the Police Service of Northern Ireland said: “A device has exploded in a vehicle at the rear of Palace Barracks, Holywood. The explosion occurred at approximately 12.24am. The investigation in ongoing, and there are no further details at this stage.”

It was reported that one person was injured in the blast.

Read the full article at http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2010/apr/12/northern-ireland-justice-minister-david-ford.

The MI5′s office in Northern Ireland is located in the British Army Palace Barracks in Holywood, on the outskirts of East Belfast. During the high time of the Irish troubles, the Palace Barracks were the site for in-depth interrogation of Republican detainees. There they were beaten and subjected to noise and sleep deprivation. One of the more popular detainees was Gerry Adams, the leader of Sinn Fein, who was arrested and interrogated there in 1972. The official establishment of an MI5 office in Northern Ireland was, and still is, highly controversial.  See also Gerry Adams’ article No room for MI5 in the North.

While any violent act in Northern Ireland these times is a futile attempt of dragging it back to its past, the perpetrators, the Real IRA, tried to make a valid point, even if they chose the most useless means to make that point.

In another article on April 13, 2010, The Guardian reported:

Although no one was killed or seriously injured, the bombing was a highly symbolic attack. The Real IRA chose the MI5 headquarters to make a political point – that Ford and the devolved justice ministry have no control over the British agents stationed there. MI5′s operations are independent of the power-sharing executive in Belfast and are only answerable to the home secretary in London. The security services now play the lead role in counter-terrorism both in Britain and Northern Ireland.

Read the full article at http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2010/apr/13/northern-ireland-justice-minister.

Let me also quote from the previously referenced article by Gerry Adams:

MI5 is a not a new player on the intelligence scene in the six counties. No more than MI6 in the 26 counties.

It is true, British Intelligence Services were instrumental in supporting terrorist acts in the Irish Republic as well as Northern Ireland, and, as I have pointed out in previously published posts, the political system in the United Kingdom has still not managed to take control of MI5 and MI6.

Let me close with a quote by George Bernard Shaw (and that quote is addressed to all sides in the conflict):
If history repeats itself, and the unexpected always happens, how incapable must Man be of learning from experience.

Product Description

Few outside the security services have heard of 14 Company. As deadly as the SAS yet more secret, the Operators of 14 Company are Britain’s most effective weapon against international terrorism. For every bomb that goes off 14 Company prevent twelve. The selection process is the most physically, intellectually and emotionally demanding anywhere in the world. Trained to operate under cover, Operators have at their disposal an arsenal of techniques and weapons unmatched by any other UK government or military agency. This is the true story of one Operator and of some of the most hair-raising military operations ever conducted on the streets of Britain.

Review

My reason to buy this book was the hope that it would contribute interesting insights for my research on the Irish Troubles. To put it in a nut-shell: I hope the author didn’t quit his day job over writing this book. What caught my attention was the sub-title “On the streets with Britain’s most secret service,” which proves yet again how important, but also how terribly misleading a title can be.

Little did I know how immature the writer deals with a serious topic like the Irish Troubles. The book starts with “Standby, standby. Zero, Oscar. I have Bravo 1 foxtrot from Alpha 2 towards Charlie 2,” and it doesn’t get much better from there. There is not much to say other than reading this book was a huge waste of my time.

Books:

A History of Ireland
by Mike Cronin

Highly recommended! I like that it’s, compared to many other works on Ireland, actually readable and entertaining. If you need a relatively quick overview on the history of Ireland (the tile of the book doesn’t lie!) this is the one I recommend.

The Operators
by James Rennie

To put it in a nut-shell: I hope the author didn’t quit his day job over writing this book. What caught my attention was the sub-title “On the streets with Britain’s most secret service”. Little did I know how immature the writer deals with a serious topic like the Irish Troubles. The book starts with “Standby, standby. Zero, Oscar. I have Bravo 1 foxtrot from Alpha 2 towards Charlie 2″ and it doesn’t get much better from there. Reading this book was a huge waste of my time.

The Irish War
by Tony Geraghty

Here we go again: Another book with misleading title and misleading sub-title, “The hidden conflict between the IRA and British Intelligence”. I have to admit, I found some valuable information here, but I also could not muster to read the book to the end. I am an advocate for intriguing literature, even when it comes to serious issues like the Irish War. However, the writing style is mind-numbingly boring and there is absolutely no visible structure in the book. The author jumps from topic to topic without any visible connection. Until this day I have no clue what drove Mr. Garaghty to write this book.

Secret Hero: The life and mysterious death of Captain Robert Nairac
by John Parker

Yet another really bad book. The life and death of Captain Robert Nairac is one of the most compelling stories related to the Irish troubles, regardless of which side you’re on. That being said, it is a pity, that the author fails to live up to the vast potential of this particular topic, especially considering that he tried to glorify the memory of Captain Nairac – as the title implies.

The Ultras
by Eoin McNamee

This is a novel that is supposed to depict the life of Captain Robet Nairac. I made it to page 8 and gave up. Enough said.

Sorry, I hate to be that negative, but I really do enjoy reading a good book. It seems to me now that there aren’t too many good ones out there, and if they are, they are hard to find. After buying and reading too many bad books on the Irish War I gave up and concentrated on Online resources as listed below.

Online Resources:

14 Company

Bloody Sunday

Bloody Sunday Inquiry

British Army Satellite Equipment

Government of Ireland Act 1920

Inverness County

IRA Actions in 1970s

Irish History

MI5 & MI6

Misc.

Port of Belfast

Real IRA

Robert Bunting

Robert Nairac

SAS

Sean Mac Stiofain

Shannon Airport

St. Patrick Cemetary

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The Bleeding Hills

A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

Published by
Copperhill Media Corporation
158 Log Plain Road
Greenfield, MA 01301

USA

Copyright © 2009 by Copperhill Media Corporation, Greenfield, Massachusetts

Published by
Copperhill Media Corporation
158 Log Plain Road
Greenfield, MA 01301

USA

Copyright © 2009 by Copperhill Media Corporation, Greenfield, Massachusetts

The band had left the small stage in a hurry, not waiting for the applause to subside, tiptoeing through the jungle of cables, microphones, speakers, and instruments, rushing over to the bar at the far end of the pub, yearning for a beer during their well-deserved break. Then, unexpectedly, all remaining lights went out, leaving the room in utter darkness for a fleeting moment until a single beam of light emerged from the ceiling, focusing on the young man they had left behind. He sat in an antique, wooden chair in the center of the stage with his eyes closed and his head down as if meditating. His arms covered his instrument, the Uilleann pipe.

His long, brown hair was neatly parted and bound into a ponytail. The bright Red Sox T-shirt, a tribute to a local passion, was in piercing contrast to his otherwise plain clothing, the dark brown corduroy trousers and black shoes. The small set of bellows was wrapped between his waist and right arm. The three drones – tenor, baritone, and bass – lay across his right thigh. The presence of another set of three regulators, as any expert would notice, revealed the musician’s impressive talent.

Oblivious of his surroundings, the young man did not move, did not attempt to play or even respond to the presence of his audience. After a few calls from several tables, addressed to those in the audience still engaged in whispers and giggles, the room grew quiet and, slowly, the young man came to life, opened his eyes, straightened his posture, and used his right elbow to begin moving the bellows, pumping air into the pipe bag.

Finn had read about the young musician’s exceptional talent and, sitting in a dark corner alone with his drink, unnoticed by most of the patrons, had been waiting expectantly in anticipation of a performance that involved his favorite musical instrument with its sweet tone and the wide range of notes.

The first song was simple and light, yet enchanting, over the constant background of the drones accompanying the tune of the chanter, as is characteristic of the national bagpipe of Ireland.

Finn relaxed, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander, preparing himself for a journey back into time, to a place he had not seen in nearly three decades. Shortly thereafter he saw himself, a boy of fourteen, sitting on the top of a grassy knoll on a bright and warm Sunday morning, the wind swirling his hair, looking down on the Whelan farm in the far distance, so far away that all the sheep appeared like little white dots on a large, colorful painting. The dark blue ocean was quiet, and from where he was sitting, he could even see the beautiful beaches of Inch.

Sunday was his only day off from farm work, and he would spend his time reading, sitting on a rock, or lying in the grass until the daylight faded. Being aware that he might spend hours without food, Mother Whelan would not let him leave without a basket full of homemade brown bread, butter, and milk.

As on every Sunday morning he had been to church, and after Mass, he would spend an hour or two in the priest’s library, where he was offered tea while reading newspapers with passionate intensity, keenly absorbing every little detail. At times the study was supplemented by lessons on Irish history or the current status of the Irish Republic in cases where the young man lacked the background information on the topic about which he was reading.

When he had finished his readings, he had a choice of one book from the library’s extensive selection, which was to be returned the following Sunday. These were usually works by Jonathan Swift, James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, William Butler Yeats, or, on occasion, even English literature such as Winston Churchill’s “The River War.”

“You need to know the enemy’s thinking,” Father Connelly, a stern Republican, assured him on more than one occasion. “The enemy’s greatest mistake is their view – based on downright ignorance, I might say – that the Republican movement is nonexistent.”

Father Connelly was famous for his colorful Sunday night speeches at the local pub where an exclusive group of local farmers, Brendan Whelan being one of them, gathered in the back room to discuss the Irish situation, especially that of Northern Ireland.

The general sense of the discussions was that the violence in Northern Ireland was committed against Republicans, and not, as it should be, by Republicans.

“The Republican movement has no real policies,” Father Connelly once announced during one of his speeches. “We are talking a great deal about fighting for the freedom of Ireland, but we do not succeed. What will it take, what disaster must happen? How many lives will it take before we officially prove our position?”

Finn was only an innocent bystander in those discussions, torn between listening to the heated arguments and the Sunday night sessions at the pub in front. He remembered one night where the party went to a nearby barn, where they inspected a new shipment of Thompson submachine guns, stored in their wooden boxes, oiled and ready for use.

It was the first time in his young life that he had seen such weapons, and at the time he was unable to grasp their use. Ironically, only a few years later he would be an expert with any weaponry, including the legendary AK-47, and there would be no doubt about his understanding of their use and the reasons behind it.

His thoughts were quickly drawn in a different direction as the music turned to another piece in a faster tempo as the musician’s fingers went flying rapidly over the chanter, producing an occasional staccato by working the chanter’s bottom hole with his knee. He was now accompanied by another band member sitting on a white plastic chair to his left, a glass of Guinness positioned on the floor in front of him, lifting the music with his bodhrán, the traditional Irish drum, and creating surprisingly intricate rhythms.

Finn let his mind flow wherever it wanted to take him and after only a few seconds he was a young man of seventeen entering Durty McCarthy’s, a pub near the town of Cahersiveen in the county of Kerry, only a few miles away from the house where his mother had lived. It was late afternoon on a Friday. The pub was packed and filled with smoke, and a session was about to start.

Durty McCarthy’s provided him with reasonable accommodations after a long day’s journey from home. He had learned of his true heritage only a few days before, and he needed to reflect as well as learn more. The events of the preceding days had profoundly changed his life, and little did he know that it was only the beginning. Before that day his life held no print or plan, but that was about to change.

He distinctly remembered the first time he noticed the publican’s daughter Shauna staring at him. She was a beautiful girl with brown hair and green eyes, dressed in a kitchen apron, wearing rubber gloves and rubber boots. Even then, just like it had so many years earlier, his heart raced. The love he felt for Shauna began right then and it had never died.

He remembered her face as a mixture of surprise and immense joy when he asked her to marry him and follow him to live in the Northern provinces, where he would use his skills to fight for the Irish cause. Only a few months later they were married in the large garden behind the McCarthy’s house in the same niche that was now the place of her grave.

Suddenly the musicians turned to a piece of greater complexity and darkness, emphasized by an enigmatic beating of the bodhrán, requiring the highest level of skill and concentration. The young man playing the Uilleann pipe had closed his eyes. His body moved in the rhythm of the music, and his wrists frantically worked the drones and regulators.

Finn began to have visions of bloody bodies leaving bloody traces on the ground as they were drawn away from the view of the shooters, screaming all around him, left and right, from the injured as well as those who tried to help them. He saw people carrying the dead body of a young boy, a priest walking in front of them, waving a white, bloodstained handkerchief at the soldiers with the red berets who, without mercy, kept shooting at them.

Finn squinted his eyes and struggled to fight off the negative images. This was neither the time nor the place for such dark memories. His attempt was defeated by similar images full of screaming and yelling and the deafening sound of continuous shooting. He saw Shauna’s bloody body on the floor. He could not handle the expression of disbelief on her beautiful face while he was struck with shock, trying to find a way to get her out of harm’s way. Still, after all these years, he could clearly feel the intense pain of leaving her and being dragged away from her unconscious body.

He was surprised by the energy it took to fight off the images and force his mind to turn to more pleasant memories.

He finally found himself amid a cold autumn thunderstorm, rolling thunder and lightning in the distance, riding on the pony he had taken from his foster father’s stable in the early morning. There was no money to afford a saddle or reins; he would merely rely on his physical strength and skill. He knew Brendan Whelan would be angry with him, but he also knew the man’s great heart. He would understand and forgive him.

Horse and rider went striding down the hill, eventually reaching the beaches of Inch, where he steered the horse into the shallow waters. He kicked his bare feet into the horse’s flanks and together they went flying over the water. He felt the freezing rain hitting his face and his clothes turning soaking wet, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed the flight through the darkness, the lightning, and the noise.

He clung closer to the horse’s neck, desperately holding on to the mane with both hands.

“C’mon, laddy,” he yelled into the pony’s ear. “You can go faster than that!”

He could feel the animal’s body stretch under him, lengthening the strides.

“Yee-haw!” he screeched, stretching out his left arm with a closed fist high into the dark skies. His exaltation grew with every stride.

He had hoped to make it to the other side of the bay, but all of a sudden he felt his body slip, and his heart started racing. Trying to slow the horse, he adjusted his body into an upright position, and while he tried to use both hands to pull on the mane, he was caught in a massive gust. He felt like he had hit a roadblock. His upper body pushed off the horse, his feet high in the air, both arms stretched wide, he tumbled through the air, and after a less than perfect somersault, landed flat on his back, slumping into the cold and salty water.

There he lay for a few moments, stunned, trying to comprehend what had just happened, and then he burst out into thunderous, unrestrained laughter. He stood up slowly, stiff, pushing one arm into his back, water mixed with sand running from his hair and clothes, and then he limped toward the horse patiently waiting in the distance.

The music ended with the sole voice of the bass drone, gently and gradually subsiding into silence, followed by a thunder of applause. Finn slowly opened his eyes, a smile of satisfaction grew on his face, and in his mind he thanked the young man for bringing back memories of the one true love, Ireland.

He knew he would be back soon. There had been rumors, whispers, and signals that he could not ignore. He did not know when, but it would be soon. He did not know how, but he was willing to comply and finish his course.

The Bleeding Hills
By Wilfried F. Voss

Published by
Copperhill Media Corporation
158 Log Plain Road
Greenfield, MA 01301

USA

Copyright © 2009 by Copperhill Media Corporation, Greenfield, Massachusetts

Chapter 1

The Place I Grew A Man

The man who entered my house shortly before midnight last night was remarkably particular about the information he was to share with me, what was acceptable to write, and, most importantly, what was not.

“It is of paramount importance that you change names and locations,” he told me. “It must be beyond a doubt that your story is based solely on your imagination. Any name, location, or event must be fictional and must not depict any living person or real event in the past or present. There are people dear to me, and I do not want to cause them any harm.”

On the sensitive yet unavoidable subject of the IRA, the Irish Republican Army, he said, “I cannot and will not comment on the operations of the IRA, nor will I admit any affiliation with them. I understand the presence of the IRA plays an essential part in the line of events, but references to them and their activities, as well as those of the British Intelligence services, must be entirely based on your own research.”

“Take some liberties,” he added.

In the same spirit, he had outlined the terms and conditions of this late night meeting in meticulous detail.

“Did you get the tea?” were his first words the moment he entered the kitchen. One of the conditions was the supply of good Irish tea, preferably Barry’s.

“Yes,” I answered. “Everything is in place as requested.”

The kettle stood steaming on top of the gas stove. On the counter beside it, the tin teapot my wife and I had bought in Ireland during our honeymoon was filled with boiling water. There was also a box of loose tea and a spoon. It is important to my Irish-American wife to keep an endless supply of Barry’s tea in the house. According to her Irish-born grandmother, while there is tea, there is hope, and we honor her motto on a daily basis.

“A bottle of Jameson’s,” I said while pointing to the setup on the kitchen table, which included two teacups and a sifter covering one of them.

“Milk and sandwiches, also as requested.”

He was visibly pleased.

“Well, I’ve come to the right place then,” he said with a satisfied smile on his face. “I don’t mean to rush, but let’s not waste valuable time. Put away your notebook and let’s get going. There is a lot to tell and hardly enough time to do it.”

Another condition of our agreement was there would be no written record of this meeting.

“I pray you have a good memory,” he had told me, and I had assured him he could count on it.

The water kettle started whistling.

“May I?” he asked, pointing to the tea, boiling water, and tin-pot.

“Please, be at home.”

He continued with the necessary and familiar procedure of preparing the tea, emptying the hot water from the teapot into the sink, carefully scooping four spoons of tea from the box, one after the other, dropping them into the teapot, and then pouring the boiling water.

There was an awkward but short period of stalled conversation while we waited for the tea to brew for the appropriate two minutes.

Then he finally broke the silence.

“I do apologize for this Interview with the Vampire atmosphere,” he said in a serious manner, “but I swear to the mighty Lord that I am a regular human being with a tight schedule and I have no intentions to bite you…”

“My wife, my kids, and I appreciate that.”

“…though some people in British Intelligence might think I have the supernatural power to disappear one instant and show up the next moment someplace else.”

He took the teapot and the sifter and carefully filled both cups on the kitchen table. I watched curiously as a cautious gush of milk made it into his cup, followed by a generous shot of Jameson.

He looked at me. “Just my version of Irish tea. I hate coffee. How do you like yours?”

“Just plain, please. No additions,” I answered.

“I’m a purist,” I couldn’t help to add. I grinned, but he didn’t seem to notice.

With the teacup in his hand, taking an occasional, cautious sip, he walked back and forth in our small kitchen, deep in thought about how to begin the story he was about to share with me. It also provided me a chance to watch him for a few moments. After all, the memories of our first meeting were a bit blurred.

He was roughly six feet tall. The blond haircut, neatly trimmed to a quarter-inch length, gave him a defined military appearance. The muscular, lean body added to that impression.

Yet, the faint smell of an expensive aftershave and the clean-shaven face emphasized his distinctly gentleman-like features. His clothing was well suited for the cold nights of the New England fall. He wore a vintage chambray shirt under a dark green wool sweater and dark charcoal corduroys. All in all, he would have easily passed as a model for an L.L. Bean catalog.

I guessed his age to be somewhere in the mid-fifties, and even though his hair showed the first signs of gray around the temples, his face had a remarkably boyish look. One could easily imagine what he had looked like in his early twenties. The most striking feature, though, were his pale green eyes.

His voice was clear, and he spoke with a slight Irish accent. His choice of words seemed sometimes Americanized, suggesting to me that he had spent a considerable portion of his life on the American continent. I also had the feeling that he could drop the accent in an instant when the circumstances required it.

I had first met him in the Boston region less than two weeks ago. Initially I thought we had met just by chance. In retrospect, I am not so sure anymore if our first encounter was pure coincidence, or, more likely, that he was specifically looking for someone like me.

I had won fifth place in a short story writing contest. The prize did not include any money, just a lousy book on marketing a novel plus free access to a writers’ conference in Westborough, just outside of Boston. The trip to Boston was not a tremendous thrill since we lived in Dublin, New Hampshire, only two hours away by car.

Before we bought our house we had looked at a much larger property in Vermont for almost the same price, but my wife could not resist the temptation of living in Dublin.

At the conference I had the opportunity to meet other writers and, more importantly, publishers. Writing short stories doesn’t make a living, and I was on the search for material to write a novel of some sort. At that time, I was officially enduring a writer’s block.

The question of how exactly a publisher would be of any help in such a hopeless situation must remain unanswered. They are not interested in mere talent or brilliant ideas and the odds are discouraging, even if you are able to present a written work. The fellow authors I met, including the wannabes, were just full of themselves, and I began to question their view of real life on planet Earth. By the end of the day, I wasn’t one iota closer to a book deal than I was when I arrived.

It was time to drown my disappointment in a few beers. Fortunately the Marriott, where my wife had made reservations for me, had an Irish pub by the name of “Fitzwilliam’s.” It was a crowded place, but I conquered one of the few empty stools at the bar, discovered they had Smithwick’s on tap, and ordered Bangers ‘n Mash from the menu. Bob the bartender was very able. He was of Asian descent and he had a nametag attached to his black vest. I never had to endure an empty glass, which gradually improved not only my mood, but even invoked a rarely encountered eagerness to mingle in a place far away from home and family.

The memories of that night remain vague. After drinking more beers than I can usually handle, I don’t exactly recall the details of how I got into the conversation with an Irish lad. I remember telling him about the day’s misery and he turned out to be a devoted listener. When we parted, he mentioned he might have a true story for me and that he would call me, but the next morning I was convinced that it was all part of an alcohol-induced dream mixed with wishful thinking.

A few days later when he called, I realized it had not been a dream. We talked for about half an hour during which he laid out his terms and conditions. I agreed willingly because he had aroused my curiosity. After all, drunk or not, I never give away my home address or phone number to strangers.

I was cautious and thought about sending my wife and kids to my in-laws the day we would meet again. As if reading my mind, he insisted, “I’d prefer this to be a private meeting, just you and I.”

Several days later I received another, much shorter phone call to set up the exact meeting date and time. A female voice, with what was most probably an Irish accent, told me there was fresh lobster for sale at the Boston Harbor fish market tomorrow night.

“The best time for pick-up is between 23:30 hours and midnight,” she said. There was no time to respond or ask questions. She hung up immediately after she had delivered the message. No good-bye. Nothing.

I am not sure if a venue like the Boston Harbor fish market in fact exists. It very well may, but for the purpose of setting up the meeting it didn’t matter.

Nevertheless, there I was, alone with my mysterious friend who had suddenly stopped the pacing and spoke without looking at me.

“My name is Finnean Michael Whelan. I was born in the Republic of Ireland on a farm near Annascaul on the Dingle Peninsula in the year of The Lord 1952. For nearly forty years, I was involved in what some people call an unnecessary war. Respectfully, I disagree.”

Then he turned toward me. “But I am not here to make political statements. I have fought my fight, and I have finished my course. I leave it to the politicians to finish what began a long time ago, and I am not one of them. I am here to make a final statement, in memory of the lads who laughed with me, to sing of their deeds and praise them while I can.”

He noticed my confusion. “Bear with me,” he said.

“I am also the direct product of a conflict that has lasted for several hundreds of years,” he continued. “My mother was raped by a constable of the RUC when she was visiting her parents in Derry, in Northern Island. You know about the RUC?”

I nodded, “Yes.”

The Royal Ulster Constabulary, the official police force in Northern Ireland between 1922 and 2001, has repeatedly been accused of following a shoot-to-kill policy. Suspects were deliberately killed without intent or attempt to arrest them. The list of accusations is long, including one-sided policing and discrimination directed against the Catholic minority.

Although the RUC was officially dissolved in 2001, the only real transformation was a name change to Police Service of Northern Ireland, as if a different name could ever clear their responsibility for past wrongdoing.

“As I said, the rape and thus my birth made me a direct result of the conflict,” he continued. “While my mother was dark-haired, I was born with a full set of blond hair, which explains my first name. Finnean is Gaelic and it means fair-haired.”

He took yet another sip from the cup and started pacing again while he resumed his monologue.

“My actions in a younger life, during the period known as ‘The Troubles’, have caused the deaths of many people, most of them Protestants, some of them Catholic, and the Catholics I killed were traitors. They deserved to die for their treason, and I pray they burn in hell where I may join them. There it will be my pleasure to increase their pain. However, still, I do hope, when the time comes, I will meet St. Peter at heaven’s gate, and he will say, ‘Hey, Finn, what took you so long?’”

Again, he stopped and looked at me, “Well, you know the saying about the Irish coming to heaven?”

It took me only a second to think about the answer. “May you arrive in heaven five minutes before the devil knows you’re dead?”

“Yes, that’s the one. So, St. Peter would tell me, ‘The devil – you knew her as Margaret Thatcher – has sent her most ruthless servant, Ian Paisley, to come after you. Do I feel a draft here? You’d best come in quickly and let’s close the gate.’ ”

He turned toward the kitchen door and yelled, “Sorry, Ian! It was getting just a bit chilly here and with today’s energy costs, you know… Have a nice death!”

For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to spit at the door. Then realized where he was, and, remembering his polite manners, showed respect to his host’s courtesy.

I couldn’t help but comment. “But Ian Paisley was the First Minister of Northern Island.”

He looked straight at me with a mirthless smile. “And Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister of Great Britain. A great man, whose name escapes me at this very moment, once said that freedom is the right to be wrong, but not to do wrong. Both have committed a great deal of wrongdoing in the name of freedom.”

He shook his head. “Nevertheless, enough about politics. As I said, politics are not my strong suit. I leave that to people like Gerry Adams and Martin McGuiness. Not that I agree with either one of them, but it looks as if talking counts more than fighting these days.”

He noticed our empty cups, and he went for the teapot, filled both cups carefully, and added milk and Jameson for himself.

“Well, back to my story,” he said. He picked up his cup, wrapped his hands around it, and resumed his pacing.

“The place I grew a man was the farm of Brendan and Mary Whelan. My mother spent most of her pregnancy at their place. The rest of her family was told that she was taking care of a distant cousin who was sick. After she gave birth to me, she went back home to her family in Cahersiveen, in the county of Kerry.

“I was officially declared an orphan, and the Whelans were assigned as my foster parents. They were good people, and they treated me well. My mother’s husband had provided the financial means to help them raise me properly.

“He also left strict instructions that they were not allowed to reveal my true identity and they had to maintain that my parents had died in a car accident. They kept their side of the deal until their very deaths, and even after I was confronted with the truth, I never told them I knew.”

It seemed he had sunken into memories of his childhood days as he closed his eyes for a few moments, and then he just stood there with his head slightly bent downward.

I sat at the kitchen table enjoying a delicious cup of tea and listening to my new friend. I had to admit that the man taking his strides back and forth in my kitchen had already managed to fascinate me a great deal. At that very moment, slowly and surely, I began to realize with delight that I was only at the beginning of an adventure tour into another time and dimension, and I already enjoyed the ride.

I also had questions on my mind, and I deemed this was the right time to throw in the most burning of them.

“Did you ever meet your mother?” I asked him.

It appeared I had interrupted his thoughts, and he didn’t answer immediately. He shook his head.

“No,” he answered very calmly. “She was already dead when I found out. I have only a photo of her, which is now in a safe place. I don’t carry it with me. It was given to me by someone special to me.”

“Who was that?” I asked.

“My brother,” he said.

The band had left the small stage in a hurry, not waiting for the applause to subside, tiptoeing through the jungle of cables, microphones, speakers, and instruments, rushing over to the bar at the far end of the pub, yearning for a beer during their well-deserved break. Then, unexpectedly, all remaining lights went out, leaving the room in utter darkness for a fleeting moment until a single beam of light emerged from the ceiling, focusing on the young man they had left behind. He sat in an antique, wooden chair in the center of the stage with his eyes closed and his head down as if meditating. His arms covered his instrument, the Uilleann pipe.

His long, brown hair was neatly parted and bound into a ponytail. The bright Red Sox T-shirt, a tribute to a local passion, was in piercing contrast to his otherwise plain clothing, the dark brown corduroy trousers and black shoes. The small set of bellows was wrapped between his waist and right arm. The three drones – tenor, baritone, and bass – lay across his right thigh. The presence of another set of three regulators, as any expert would notice, revealed the musician’s impressive talent.

Oblivious of his surroundings, the young man did not move, did not attempt to play or even respond to the presence of his audience. After a few calls from several tables, addressed to those in the audience still engaged in whispers and giggles, the room grew quiet and, slowly, the young man came to life, opened his eyes, straightened his posture, and used his right elbow to begin moving the bellows, pumping air into the pipe bag.

Finn had read about the young musician’s exceptional talent and, sitting in a dark corner alone with his drink, unnoticed by most of the patrons, had been waiting expectantly in anticipation of a performance that involved his favorite musical instrument with its sweet tone and the wide range of notes.

The first song was simple and light, yet enchanting, over the constant background of the drones accompanying the tune of the chanter, as is characteristic of the national bagpipe of Ireland.

Finn relaxed, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander, preparing himself for a journey back into time, to a place he had not seen in nearly three decades. Shortly thereafter he saw himself, a boy of fourteen, sitting on the top of a grassy knoll on a bright and warm Sunday morning, the wind swirling his hair, looking down on the Whelan farm in the far distance, so far away that all the sheep appeared like little white dots on a large, colorful painting. The dark blue ocean was quiet, and from where he was sitting, he could even see the beautiful beaches of Inch.

Sunday was his only day off from farm work, and he would spend his time reading, sitting on a rock, or lying in the grass until the daylight faded. Being aware that he might spend hours without food, Mother Whelan would not let him leave without a basket full of homemade brown bread, butter, and milk.

As on every Sunday morning he had been to church, and after Mass, he would spend an hour or two in the priest’s library, where he was offered tea while reading newspapers with passionate intensity, keenly absorbing every little detail. At times the study was supplemented by lessons on Irish history or the current status of the Irish Republic in cases where the young man lacked the background information on the topic about which he was reading.

When he had finished his readings, he had a choice of one book from the library’s extensive selection, which was to be returned the following Sunday. These were usually works by Jonathan Swift, James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, William Butler Yeats, or, on occasion, even English literature such as Winston Churchill’s “The River War.”

“You need to know the enemy’s thinking,” Father Connelly, a stern Republican, assured him on more than one occasion. “The enemy’s greatest mistake is their view – based on downright ignorance, I might say – that the Republican movement is nonexistent.”

Father Connelly was famous for his colorful Sunday night speeches at the local pub where an exclusive group of local farmers, Brendan Whelan being one of them, gathered in the back room to discuss the Irish situation, especially that of Northern Ireland.

The general sense of the discussions was that the violence in Northern Ireland was committed against Republicans, and not, as it should be, by Republicans.

“The Republican movement has no real policies,” Father Connelly once announced during one of his speeches. “We are talking a great deal about fighting for the freedom of Ireland, but we do not succeed. What will it take, what disaster must happen? How many lives will it take before we officially prove our position?”

Finn was only an innocent bystander in those discussions, torn between listening to the heated arguments and the Sunday night sessions at the pub in front. He remembered one night where the party went to a nearby barn, where they inspected a new shipment of Thompson submachine guns, stored in their wooden boxes, oiled and ready for use.

It was the first time in his young life that he had seen such weapons, and at the time he was unable to grasp their use. Ironically, only a few years later he would be an expert with any weaponry, including the legendary AK-47, and there would be no doubt about his understanding of their use and the reasons behind it.

His thoughts were quickly drawn in a different direction as the music turned to another piece in a faster tempo as the musician’s fingers went flying rapidly over the chanter, producing an occasional staccato by working the chanter’s bottom hole with his knee. He was now accompanied by another band member sitting on a white plastic chair to his left, a glass of Guinness positioned on the floor in front of him, lifting the music with his bodhrán, the traditional Irish drum, and creating surprisingly intricate rhythms.

Finn let his mind flow wherever it wanted to take him and after only a few seconds he was a young man of seventeen entering Durty McCarthy’s, a pub near the town of Cahersiveen in the county of Kerry, only a few miles away from the house where his mother had lived. It was late afternoon on a Friday. The pub was packed and filled with smoke, and a session was about to start.

Durty McCarthy’s provided him with reasonable accommodations after a long day’s journey from home. He had learned of his true heritage only a few days before, and he needed to reflect as well as learn more. The events of the preceding days had profoundly changed his life, and little did he know that it was only the beginning. Before that day his life held no print or plan, but that was about to change.

He distinctly remembered the first time he noticed the publican’s daughter Shauna staring at him. She was a beautiful girl with brown hair and green eyes, dressed in a kitchen apron, wearing rubber gloves and rubber boots. Even then, just like it had so many years earlier, his heart raced. The love he felt for Shauna began right then and it had never died.

He remembered her face as a mixture of surprise and immense joy when he asked her to marry him and follow him to live in the Northern provinces, where he would use his skills to fight for the Irish cause. Only a few months later they were married in the large garden behind the McCarthy’s house in the same niche that was now the place of her grave.

Suddenly the musicians turned to a piece of greater complexity and darkness, emphasized by an enigmatic beating of the bodhrán, requiring the highest level of skill and concentration. The young man playing the Uilleann pipe had closed his eyes. His body moved in the rhythm of the music, and his wrists frantically worked the drones and regulators.

Finn began to have visions of bloody bodies leaving bloody traces on the ground as they were drawn away from the view of the shooters, screaming all around him, left and right, from the injured as well as those who tried to help them. He saw people carrying the dead body of a young boy, a priest walking in front of them, waving a white, bloodstained handkerchief at the soldiers with the red berets who, without mercy, kept shooting at them.

Finn squinted his eyes and struggled to fight off the negative images. This was neither the time nor the place for such dark memories. His attempt was defeated by similar images full of screaming and yelling and the deafening sound of continuous shooting. He saw Shauna’s bloody body on the floor. He could not handle the expression of disbelief on her beautiful face while he was struck with shock, trying to find a way to get her out of harm’s way. Still, after all these years, he could clearly feel the intense pain of leaving her and being dragged away from her unconscious body.

He was surprised by the energy it took to fight off the images and force his mind to turn to more pleasant memories.

He finally found himself amid a cold autumn thunderstorm, rolling thunder and lightning in the distance, riding on the pony he had taken from his foster father’s stable in the early morning. There was no money to afford a saddle or reins. He would merely rely on his physical strength and skill. He knew Brendan Whelan would be angry with him, but he also knew the man’s great heart. He would understand and forgive him.

Horse and rider went striding down the hill, eventually reaching the beaches of Inch, where he steered the horse into the shallow waters. He kicked his bare feet into the horse’s flanks and together they went flying over the water. He felt the freezing rain hitting his face and his clothes turning soaking wet, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed the flight through the darkness, the lightning, and the noise.

He clung closer to the horse’s neck, desperately holding on to the mane with both hands.

“C’mon, laddy,” he yelled into the pony’s ear. “You can go faster than that!”

He could feel the animal’s body stretch under him, lengthening the strides.

“Yee-haw!” he screeched, stretching out his left arm with a closed fist high into the dark skies. His exaltation grew with every stride.

He had hoped to make it to the other side of the bay, but suddenly he felt his body slip, and his heart started racing. Trying to slow the horse, he adjusted his body into an upright position, and while he tried to use both hands to pull on the mane, he was caught in a massive gust. His upper body pushed off the horse, his feet high in the air, both arms stretched wide, he tumbled through the air, and after a less than perfect somersault, landed flat on his back, slumping into the cold and salty water.

There he lay for a few moments, stunned, trying to comprehend what had just happened, and then he burst out into thunderous, unrestrained laughter. He stood up slowly, stiff, pushing one arm into his back, water mixed with sand running from his hair and clothes, and then he limped toward the horse patiently waiting in the distance.

The music ended with the sole voice of the bass drone, gently and gradually subsiding into silence, followed by a thunder of applause. Finn slowly opened his eyes, a smile of satisfaction grew on his face, and in his mind he thanked the young man for bringing back memories of the one true love, Ireland.

He knew he would be back soon. There had been rumors, whispers, and signals that he could not ignore. He did not know when, but it would be soon. He did not know how, but he was willing to comply and finish his course.

———————————–

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The Bleeding Hills - A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

Yet again the idea behind my book “The Bleeding Hills” has been strikingly confirmed by the the latest attack on British soldiers on March 7th (See my blog entry March 7, 2009 – Terror Returns to Northern Ireland). In my blog entry – and my book – I refer specifically to the operations of the so-called Real IRA and, ironically, the RIRA has claimed responsibility for the attacks. Today’s Online version of The Guardian (http://www.guardian.co.uk) reports that “in a statement, the Real IRA made no apology for shooting the delivery men (Two civilians, who delivered pizza to the barracks, were wounded), accusing them of “collaborating” with the British army by delivering food to the base.”

However, one comment in the first report of the attacks caught my attention, since my book also addresses British undercover operations in Northern Ireland. Northern Ireland’s chief constable, Sir Hugh Orde, had confirmed that undercover British army troops were on paramilitary surveillance duties in Northern Ireland. In my mind I had started another blog entry, complaining that British officials are inexplicably unable to learn from past mistakes, but I have been pre-empted (if I may say so) by somebody more competent to talk about such affairs.

Sinn Fein’s Gerry Adams commented on Sir Orde’s statement today during an interview by BBC Radio 4, saying “The chief constable made a huge mistake bringing in undercover British army units. You don’t understand the history if you don’t appreciate that the involvement of these units in the past – totally unaccountable – has led to the same type of suffering as that that has unfortunately been endured at this time by the families of the two British soldiers who were killed.”

The history of British undercover operations, as Gerry Adams had remarked, did in many instances result in the killing of British soldiers and even, in some bizarre cases, the killing of civilians by British forces in order to discredit the IRA.

For instance, the MRF, the Mobile Reconnaissance Force, was responsible for undercover military surveillance in Northern Ireland until about 1972 when its operation was compromised. The MRF ran the Four Square laundry in Belfast, which accommodated a simple, but highly sophisticated undercover operation. It acted as a regular laundry and it used large green vans for delivery and pickups. The delivery staff would chat with locals, while two SAS soldiers, hidden inside the van, would photograph the houses, their occupants and vehicles of known Republicans. The laundry they collected was scientifically probed for traces of blood, gunpowder, and explosives. It took IRA intelligence months to uncover the operation. They detected two IRA double agents that the MRF had turned. They were interrogated and eventually spilled everything they knew about the undercover operation. On October 2^nd, 1972 at 11:15 am volunteers of a special intelligence unit of the IRA ambushed one of the green Morris vans as it drove through Juniper Park. Two soldiers inside the van were killed, as was the driver, Sapper Stuart, who was on loan from his parent regiment to the SAS.

There are also recurring allegations that British Intelligence, especially the 14 Intelligence Company, cooperated with the UVF, the Ulster Volunteer Force, an illegal paramilitary organization, to organize attacks and bombings in order to blame and discredit the IRA. The 14 Intelligence Company, also known as The Det, was established in 1973 as a response to the uncovering of the MRF. The 14 Company conducted undercover surveillance operations against suspected members of Irish Republican groups and, again, there are widespread allegations that they assisted in bombings and the shooting of innocent civilians.

One of the worst incidents is the killing of the Miami Showband on 31 July 1975. The Miami Showband, one of Ireland’s most popular cabaret bands of the 1970s, comprising both Catholic and Protestant members, were travelling home to Dublin after a gig in Northern Ireland. They were stopped at a roadblock after being flagged down by men in British Army uniforms, which was a common occurrence during the troubles. One of the soldiers, who was also a UVF member, attempted to plant and hide a bomb in the minibus. The plan was that the bomb would explode some time on the way to Dublin. The assumption would have been that the members of the band were supporters of the Republican movement and had been carrying a bomb in their van, apparently with the plan to commit an act of violence. However, the bomb exploded prematurely and killed two soldiers immediately. After the explosion, the remaining UVF members opened fire on the band members and three of the musicians were killed. There are persisting rumors that Captain Robert Nairac, a British army officer and member of the 14 Intelligence Company, had organized the attack in cooperation with the UVF. It is also said, that Nairac was present at the killings.

These are only two examples of British undercover operations that resulted in the unnecessary loss of lives and it is, yet again, incomprehensible that British officials are not capable to learn from experience. Then again, they share this flaw with all dissident organizations opposed to the peace settlement, such as the Real IRA, Continuity IRA, and Oglaigh na hEireann.

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The Bleeding Hills

A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.

The Bleeding Hills - A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

Back in 2005 I discovered the thrill of writing and publishing my first book on a very dry technical topic – Controller Area Network, a technology developed for automobiles. Since then I had published two more books of similar nature, but for the longest time I had toyed with the thought of breaking the cycle and explore other topics to write about, maybe even writing a novel of some kind. I am aware, writing technical literature or writing a novel are two very different ballparks, but am also thrilled by the idea.

Now, that a decision for a novel was made, I had to decide the subject to write about. I do have enough material in my mind that would account for at least four or five novels, but I also wanted to start with an “easy” subject, something to get a feel of the whole novel writing experience without wasting years of research and writing. One recent issue of the Poets & Writers magazine listed cases where authors worked for up to 18 years on their first novel, which, honestly, does not appeal – maybe it’s my German efficiency thinking.

After numerous hour-long sessions in the hot tub I came up with the “easy” subject of Bloody Sunday, which made my wife crinch when I told her. Having a law degree and knowing my rebel attitude she foresaw all the legal implications such as verifying copyrights, accuracy of historical facts, etc. It’s ironic, because being married to an Irish-American green-eyed red-head who is spiritually, however, not actively a staunch supporter of Sinn Fein, confronts you with the very passionate topic of Irish history on a nearly daily basis. To my wife’s credit, I hadn’t told her I was thinking about a novel; her initial expectation was a non-fiction account of the events. As Mark Twain put it so adequately “Familiarize yourself with the facts and then you can distort them any way you please.” and that is exactly what novel-writing is about.

Bloody Sunday, which many people associate only with the famous U2 song, refers to the events in Derry (the name Londonderry is not acceptable for a good Irish Republican) in Northern Ireland on January 30, 1972, when twenty-six civil rights protesters were shot by the 1st Battalion of the British Parachute Regiment. Thirteen people, six of whom were only seventeen years old, died at the scene. Five of those wounded, were shot in the back. While the study of such a tense subject seemed promising, I also found that good literature on the subject is hard to come by. Most books are either politically tainted to a degree that their credibility must be taken with a considerable grain of salt or the writing style simply defies the basic rules of good and fluent reading. It is my firm belief that writing about history should not only catch, but also keep the reader’s attention; otherwise the writing turns out to be a worthless task.

I was discouraged to have selected several bad examples from a myriad of available books on recent Irish history. One work in particular, written by a former member of 14 Company, at some time considered the most secret undercover operation of British Intelligence, was written in the style of an adolescent with an inferiority complex the size of Wisconsin describing a violent video game. Accompanying photos were plenty and one of them showed an example of how a pistol was properly tucked into the backside of a woman’s jeans with the subtitle “A fine example of a nicely shaped butt”. A head shake is in order now. I am now using the vast Internet resources for my research.

Another inspiration for my story was a CD I had first heard in Ireland, when we visited some relatives (I am now officially “Irish by Marriage”). My wife’s grandmother was born on the island of Inishbofin off the coast of Galway and came to the United States in the early 1920′s. The CD in question is Farewell to Evening Dances by Colm O’Donnell, one of my absolute favorite Irish musicians. One song in particular, The Boys of Barr Na Sraide, caught my attention. The song, according to Irish singer Tim Dennehy’s web site, “captures beautifully the essence of Cahersiveen nestled as it is between the mountain and sea”. Cahersiveen is an Irish town located at the Ring of Kerry. The song is based on a poem by Sigerson Clifford, who was born in Cahersiveen, and it tells the story of the boys of Barr Na Sraide – Top Street – who hunted for the wren.

Through the intensive research on the topic of recent Irish history I discovered many more interesting details, which influenced my writing significantly as I tried to incorporate historical facts into the story line. Bloody Sunday is still an important part of the story, but more in respect that it strengthened the position of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) and resulted in the recruitment of a great number of new members determined to fight British rule. I used references to The Boys of Barr Na Sraide in a very unique way and you need to read the final result to find out how…

Talking about the story line… Here is a summary:
The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. Finn is protected by the CIA in his exile in the United States after working for them for the past twenty years. Consequently, British Intelligence has come up with a plan to lure Finn back into their jurisdiction, Northern Ireland, by revealing the identity of the man who is ultimately responsible for the killing of Finn’s wife, Shauna. Here they hope not only to apprehend him, but also lead them to another conspirator, Martin Sheehan, who hides in the Northern provinces. For Finn this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland.

The title of the book will be “The Bleeding Hills“. It is divided into six chapters and as of today’s date I have finished chapter three; time to forward it to my editing resource. The remaining three chapters already contain a very coarse draft and I need to flesh them out. You will see me somewhere in Western Massachusetts, hanging out at a Panera Bread, copying thoughts from my brain into my beloved MacBook. The current plan is to be ready for publication by end of May. In the meantime I will post further updates here on my blog.

Advertisement

The Bleeding Hills

A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I have fought a good fight,
I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith.
- 2 Timothy iv. 7

The Irish War is officially a part of history, but not for Finnean Whelan, an IRA veteran of almost 40 years. British Intelligence has produced evidence that he is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to assassinate the First Minister of Northern Ireland. For Whelan this is not only a mission of revenge, but marks the beginning of a journey into the past and the return to the one true love: Ireland. [More...]

The Bleeding Hills is available at Amazon.Com, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Nobel, and any other good bookstore.