[Read Part 1 of T. E. Lawrence, Gay Murder Victim?...]

The official version of Lawrence of Arabia’s death is that, riding home fast on 13 May 1935 on his Brough Superior motorcycle, he found two boys riding on pushbikes ahead of him. He was travelling at speed, so he pulled out to overtake them.  While doing so, he lost control of the motorbike, which ran off the road. Lawrence was thrown clear but hit his head against a tree. He was not wearing a helmet and suffered concussion and severe brain damage. Although he received prompt medical attention, he never regained consciousness. He lingered for six days and then died. This is the version that is portrayed at the start of David Lean’s film Lawrence of Arabia, starring Peter O’Toole as Lawrence.  Like everything connected with Lawrence, the reality is more complicated.

Lawrence was a careful rider, although care did not extend to wearing a crash helmet, which was not at that time compulsory. He had had only two minor accidents, “spills”, since he began riding. George Brough, who manufactured a whole series of motor cycles for Lawrence, said that he was “one of the finest riders I have ever met. In the several runs that I took with him, I am able to state with conviction that T.E.L. was most considerate to every other road user. I never saw him take a single risk nor put any other rider or driver to the slightest inconvenience.” He was also a creature of habit:  he always changed gear at exactly the same point on the road back to Clouds Hill, his Dorset cottage. At the time of his accident he was not travelling fast. A Brough travelling at speed was almost soundless; but the two boy cyclists said that they heard the motorcycle behind them. After the accident, the gears were found to be jammed in second gear. None of the witnesses who were   present on 13 May 1935, and who gave evidence afterwards, saw the exact moment of the accident, which took place in a hollow. These witnesses were:

A) Corporal Ernest Catchpole, who was walking his dog. He saw parts of Lawrence’s last ride but the hilly nature of the terrain meant that he could not follow his entire course. He saw, in this order: Lawrence, proceeding towards Clouds Hill; a black, private motor car proceeding in the opposite direction; the motor cycle swerving, possibly after it had passed the car, at a point that he could not see; then two pedal-cyclists ahead of Lawrence proceeding towards Clouds Hill. Finally, he saw the motorbike twisting and turning over and over on the road. He saw nothing of the rider. He ran to the scene and found Lawrence, whom he did not know, lying on the road. His face was covered with blood. Although a civilian, Lawrence was taken immediately to Bovington camp and placed in the military hospital there. He remained there until his death.  The inquest into Lawrence’s death was also conducted at Bovington Camp.

B) The two boys, Frank Fletcher and Albert Hargreaves, who were both the sons of serving soldiers. They had both recently left school. As they were facing in the same direction as Lawrence, they saw nothing, although they apparently heard his engine behind them. Albert was admitted to the RAMC hospital, but had not been seriously hurt. He might have been hit by Lawrence’s cycle. His friend Frank Fletcher was also knocked off his cycle, by Albert.

Bovington Camp reacted as though this was more than just a road traffic accident. All ranks were warned that they came under the provisions of the Official Secrets Act. The boys’ fathers were told to make them stay silent. It is fairly clear that they were instructed not to mention the black car, and they did not. Corporal Catchpole was also told that he should not mention the black car, but refused to change his story.  Two plain clothes detectives were assigned to Lawrence. One sat by his bed, while the other rested on a cot outside the door. The Press was effectively muzzled: all news had to come through the War Office Press Office. No newspaper proprietor felt like defying this ruling. Yet Lawrence was by this time a civilian, and had been for several months.

It now emerged that some of Lawrence’s closest friends and relations were conveniently absent. Arnold Lawrence returned from a holiday in Spain to be greeted by the news of his brother’s death and the discovery that officials from the Air Ministry had removed “secret papers” from Clouds Hill. A special guard had been placed over the cottage, apparently to keep sightseers at bay. Mr and Mrs Bernard Shaw were on holiday in South Africa.  His brother Bob and his mother were in China.

The coroner, Mr L. E. N. Neville-Jones, had a difficult task. The boys’ and Corporal Catchpole’s evidence conflicted: the main point of conflict being the existence of the black car. One of the jury also found this odd. The coroner’s court was conducted in a small dining room in an officers’ mess at Bovington. Few members of the public were able to obtain admission; it was held almost in camera.

What seems to have happened in reality is that Lawrence saw the two boys ahead and prepared to overtake. As he did so, he saw the black car coming towards him, fast. He tried to avoid it in the only possible way; to swerve off the road, but he did not succeed. He was hit and fatally injured. The car may also have hit the cycle of one of the boys; a glancing blow. It then continued on its way. A student of the case, Colin Graham, claims that a week before the accident Lawrence and one of his visiting airman friends, both on motor-bikes, had noticed a black car apparently being test-driven along the lonely road leading past his cottage.  The unfrequented road was a good place for such tests. Others recalled seeing a large black car in the area more than once before the accident, but never after it. It was never identified: it was not a regular delivery van that passed Clouds Hill most days, nor was it a taxi belonging to a local firm, both of which have been suggested. Some accounts suggest that the number plate may have been hidden or removed. Even in 1935 this would have been very illegal. If the car was being test-driven by a local garage, why did not the garage owner come forward and clear up the mystery?  If it was simply on its way from A to B, why did not the driver and the passengers, if there were any, come forward after the news of the accident became public knowledge? The story had been carried on the radio and in the local and national Press.  Why, indeed, did they not stop immediately to offer assistance to the accident victim? Why were they not sought by the police? Likewise, Lawrence’s airman friend was not invited to give evidence, nor did he try. He, like the boys, may have been silenced by his superiors.

On the day of his death Lawrence had travelled to a nearby village to send a telegram to a man who had written to him requesting a meeting.  The inward letter has disappeared but Lawrence’s reply survives:

“Williamson, Shallowleigh, Filleigh. Lunch Tuesday wet fine cottage 1 mile north Bovington Camp.

SHAW”

Henry Williamson, the author of Tarka the Otter, was one of Sir Oswald Mosley’s most devoted disciples. Mosley was the leader of the British Union of Fascists (BUF). He had conceived the notion of recruiting Lawrence to the Fascists.  Lawrence was obviously interested. His potential value to the Fascists is clear; a hero can confer respectability on a political movement. Gabriele D’Annunzio; a brilliant poet, author, journalist and World War I soldier, had conferred his lustre on Mussolini’s Italy. Petain, the hero of Verdun, was to lend the French Vichy Government, at least for a time, a respectability that it would otherwise have lacked. Marshal Ludendorff had lent his name to the early Nazi Party.  Lawrence could have done the same for Mosley’s British Fascists.  In 1935 Fascism must have seemed to be on the crest of a wave: Mussolini was preparing to invade Abyssinia in defiance of international opinion; Hitler had come to power three years earlier in Germany and in 1936 would preside at the Berlin Olympic Games. They already had a number of minor imitators. In the late 1930s they would be joined by General Franco in Spain. Two months earlier In the UK, in March 1935, an enthusiastic audience of 8,000 had heard Oswald Mosley address his largest-ever indoor rally in the Albert Hall.

Then there is the matter of the “secret papers” that were removed from Clouds Hill. It is unlikely that Lawrence held any official papers. However papers were unquestionably removed; some personal items as well. Henry Williamson’s letter was removed. At any rate, it has never turned up anywhere. There were others letters too: from his friend John Bruce, a young Scotsman and former soldier who used to flog Lawrence; letters from other young men; a diary in which Lawrence recorded his flogging sessions; and a collection of whips. The investigators, whoever they were, would have found a lot of potentially embarrassing material. The evidence of Lawrence’s unusual pastimes would have been enough to silence most of his Army and RAF friends.

As for that black car: it is The Hound of the Baskervilles in mechanical guise. The hound, a real ferocious dog, made up to resemble the demonic hound in the family legend, was used to frighten Sir Charles Baskerville, an elderly man with a heart condition, so that he had a heart attack and died. As Sherlock Holmes pointed out, the hound was seen several times before the murder as the owner, Stapleton, sought a chance to unleash it at the frail Sir Charles, but it was not seen again after it had served its purpose. It looks suspiciously as though the driver of the car had been based in the area, studying Lawrence’s habits and seeking an opportunity to engineer an ‘accident’ that would kill him. The speed with which the Army reacted, and the way in which they reacted, suggests that some officers at Bovington at least were in on the plan and were expecting this to happen. It might be reasonable for the Army to have offered first aid to a civilian injured on its doorstep; but thereafter he would normally have been removed for intensive care in some large civilian hospital; probably in Dorchester. This did not happen. The tight official control exerted over the flow of news, and over the coroner’s court, is deeply suspicious. Someone wanted Lawrence dead.  That someone was in the Government, or closely connected with it.

Is this far-fetched? I do not think so. The following year the same British establishment would manage an even more remarkable coup; one which, if one were to introduce it in a novel, would be regarded as unrealistic. But it happened: they managed what amounted to a palace coup, to unseat the worryingly unconventional King Edward VIII and install his compliant, conventional brother George VI on the throne. King Edward too was thought to have an unhealthy interest in fascism.

For more information on the subject see:

• T. E. Lawrence 0n Wikipedia.org
• T. E. Lawrence on PBS.org

The Indigo Bird

An Erotic Novel by Max Markham

James Graveney, a young Major in a respectable regiment, is outwardly conventional. In private James is bisexual, with a strong urge for his own sex. Gay sex, however, is illegal in the Army, so he is discreet about this.

James’ world is turned upside-down when he meets Lieutenant Richard Finch. Richard is intelligent, charismatic and exceptionally handsome.  He doesn’t mess around. He gets what he wants, and is completely unscrupulous about how he gets it. Richard will stop at nothing to achieve this, including Machiavellian deception and a cunning and brutal murder.  James starts responding to Richard, cautiously at first, then gets swept along on the great love affair of his life.

The Indigo Bird is a rollercoaster of surprises set against backdrops varying from the jungles of Belize to London, the English countryside, and Ireland, and the scene is set for more shocks and adventures. [Read more...]

One of the books to which I referred in my post on 24 April was Nicky Curtis’ Faith and Duty (Andre Deutsch, London, 1998, ISBN 0-233-99415-7). This book, a “soldier’s eye view” of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, seems to be out of print but copies are available from Internet booksellers.  It ought to be required reading for anyone with a serious interest in that Province. It is a good read and makes sense of a lot of things that were previously incomprehensible to me.

The title may require explanation. “Faith” refers to the author’s Catholic faith, which initially caused him to be sympathetic to the Catholic Nationalists, whose denial of civil rights sparked the first protests in 1968. “Duty” refers to his duty to the Army and his regiment, the Green Howards. 1968 was a year of protest all over the world: African-Americans were marching in the USA; students were protesting in Paris; in the UK the LSE was a focus of dissent and protest. Why should Northern Ireland be any different? Mostly, the world’s eyes were fixed on Paris, where a real revolution at one moment seemed possible. Ulster seemed merely a sideshow.  The difference was that the almost-moribund IRA took a new lease of life from the unrest in the North; infiltrated and took over the civil rights movement; and threatened to start a civil war in the Province. The Royal Ulster Constabulary, mainly Protestant and Unionist, could not and did not contain the unrest.  The British Army was sent in to keep the two sides apart. Welcomed at first as rescuers by the Catholic population, this goodwill did not last. The soldiers became terrorist targets from 1970, when the Provisional IRA stepped up their campaign, and the situation degenerated further after 30 January 1972 “Bloody Sunday”.  The increasingly barbaric war in Northern Ireland tested Curtis’ Catholic faith and eventually he lost it. When Faith clashed with Duty, Duty finally won.

Nicky Curtis is one of the most highly decorated British soldiers to have served in Northern Ireland. Throughout his service he was an NCO: initially a Corporal, later a Sergeant. He turned down the chance to be commissioned as an officer, having decided to leave the Army, in 1976. In this remarkable book he portrays his experiences in the Province during the turbulent years of 1969-1976. After surviving nearly 2,000 fired rounds, Curtis’s duty as a uniformed soldier ended and he received the Military Medal from the Queen for acts of bravery in the field. He returned to the Province to serve in undercover operations, liaising closely with such figures as Captain Robert Nairac; a legend for his undercover work against the IRA. Hard-hitting, uncompromising and frank, Nicky Curtis’ account of his life in Northern Ireland encompasses the extremities of urban civil war, the intrigues of undercover operations, and the political machinations that helped to form them.

If Curtis became disillusioned with the Catholic Church and with God, his dislike and contempt for many of the officers under whom he served stands out clearly. This is somehow shocking: were they truly that useless and out of touch? What had gone wrong at Sandhurst? The uniformed troops’ war in Ulster is portrayed as a “corporals’ war” in which officers were seen as an encumbrance, rather than an asset.  They reportedly usually stayed behind and sent their men out to suffer. When they did involve themselves, the results could be fatal for the men on the ground, if Curtis is to be believed. Naturally there were exceptions: two whom he mentions at length are his platoon commander, Lt Chris Mather MC, and Robert Nairac GC, with whom he worked undercover. He has unlimited admiration for their courage and intelligence: “the same officer-bred authority at odds with a squaddie’s natural toughness in the eyes… Nairac and Chris obviously shared more than just a certain demeanour: their balls must have been forged in the same steel mill as well”: high praise, from a man who is sparing with it. Both officers came to bad ends: as is well-known, Nairac, another Catholic, was abducted, tortured and murdered by the IRA in 1977. Mather suffered post-traumatic stress disorder; seriously ill and unable to work, he was forced to sell his Military Cross to pay his bills. He received almost no support, financial or moral. This is a sickening indictment of the UK’s disregard of its soldiers’ welfare at that time. Things may have improved somewhat, but there is plenty of scope for further improvement.  Curtis himself suffered and describes his nightmares in horrific detail. You could not make them up. He too had difficulty in securing help and support. It seems that “Tommy Atkins is always shat on once he’s protected your arse and that of any other fucker who wants power without responsibility”, to quote another soldier.

For those looking for information on Nairac, the book offers some insights into that complex man. For all Curtis’s admiration for him, he admits that Nairac could be deceitful, devious and manipulative: “a slippery- tit”, and rarely took Curtis completely into his confidence. Sometimes he played cruel practical jokes: for example insisting on taking Curtis for a drink in a known Republican haunt, McCrory’s Bar in Coalisland. Curtis was instructed not to open his mouth, as he could not mimic an Irish accent, which Nairac could. He was horrified and afraid. Why could they not go to a safe Protestant bar? Soon after they arrived, Nairac disappeared, as did McCrory. Curtis became very worried and went for a discreet reconnaissance. He eventually saw them in an inner room, hunched over a table like old pals. What was their relationship, the undercover Guardsman and the Republican IRA sympathiser (to put it no more strongly)?  Curtis did not know and we still don’t know. Had Nairac recruited McCrory? It seemed unlikely. Was Nairac a double-agent? Curtis eventually dismissed that idea too, but a nagging doubt remained for some time. Nairac said that he was ‘just passing the time’, which was clearly untrue.

The secret world is a horrible place; no-one can operate there and keep their hands clean. Unsurprisingly, Nairac does not emerge as a selfless knight in shining armour. He clearly got a kick out of intrigue, risk and danger. Possibly more than that: after his own murder, a collection of gory “scene of the crime” photos of dead terrorists was found in his room, verging on the morbid. Why did he amass them? In particular, and if Curtis’ account is correct, two assassinations, of which Nairac has been accused by the IRA and of which others have exonerated him, cannot be quite discounted. One is the murder of an IRA commander within the Republic: John Francis Green.  It seems that Nairac and  others, probably including his immediate superior, Tony Ball, had staked out the Carville farm house where Green was eventually assassinated; watching it from a hide for days before the killing. The fatal shot appears however to have been fired by a Loyalist paramilitary. Had Nairac tipped him off? Peter Cleary, another senior IRA commander, was kidnapped and ‘shot while attempting to escape’ by an SAS soldier. However the soldier admitted to Curtis that he had been more-or-less instructed to shoot Cleary, whatever happened, by a “RUC Special Branch officer “with a strong Irish accent, whom Curtis immediately recognised from the description as Nairac, although he was using another name and identity. It is however clear that Nairac was not involved in the “Miami Show Band massacre”. One suspects that, had he been involved, there would have been no survivors or witnesses and the incident would have taken place outside Northern Ireland. The loyalist paramilitary who shot Green evidently was involved; the same gun was used in both incidents.  This person’s identity is known; he is now dead. We should not feel much grief for Green and Cleary; both were clearly nasty pieces of work and their elimination represented real progress in the war against terrorism in Ulster.  Of course, they both had grief-stricken families and friends: so, probably, had Hitler.

From another source it has emerged that the “English officer with a clipped accent” heard giving orders at scene of the “Miami Show Band massacre”, to which Nairac’s name has often been linked, was not Nairac but a Loyalist paramilitary and Ulster Defence Regiment soldier. This man was Irish but had lived long enough in England to have acquired an English accent.  He too has now been identified. Curtis’ grief at Nairac’s death, which occurred after he had left the Army and the Province, is real and his “Epilogue” rings true. However he adds that “my gut feeling had been that it was a death waiting to happen”.  The mysteries that surrounded Nairac in life have simply deepened with his death.  Curtis sums it up: “about the only thing that anyone agreed on (including, amazingly, the IRA) was that the courage of the man was unquestionable and evident in the way that he faced his death”.  He mentions, and discounts, the theory, which many Loyalists still seem to believe, that Nairac was indeed a double agent and that he was spirited away after a staged abduction and murder. Returning to Ulster as a civilian businessman in 1995, Curtis makes the mistake of drinking a Guinness in a Republican bar in Armagh. There he narrowly escapes the same fate as Nairac, having been identified as a “Brit bastard”.

What Curtis does not reveal is whether he and Nairac ever discussed their common Catholic faith. Yet they surely must have done. Curtis used to discuss his faith, or loss of it, with Chris Mather, who was at that time an atheist. I have a strong suspicion that Nairac, whose faith was described as being traditionally Catholic, of an almost mediaeval intensity, when he left Ampleforth, may have undergone a similar process of disillusion to Curtis: partly no doubt as a result of Vatican II (1962-65), but mostly as a result of his experiences in the Province.  There are indications from third parties who met him in the Army that he had ceased to be a regular churchgoer and latterly did not come across as being very religious at all. It would follow from this that moral restraints, previously held tightly in check by his faith, might by this time have been jettisoned as well.

For expatriate Irish with a sentimental regard for the IRA as freedom fighters, this will make salutary, unpalatable reading. Curtis pulls no punches. The description of an IRA “romper room” in which someone had recently been tortured to death, is stomach-churning. “No room to swing a cat, you might say, but the poor sod’s torturers had obviously found just enough room to swing the axe, the shovel, the claw-hammer, breeze blocks, or whatever they’d used as they laid into him on all sides. In  a space this confined they must have left splattered from feet to face….I didn’t even want to think about the discoloured meat hook that hung from the ceiling like a dead question mark.”

It would be good to think that this dark chapter has finally closed: I don’t think that it has, yet.

Faith and Duty – The True Story of a Soldier’s War in Northern Ireland by Nick Curtis is available at:

• Amazon.Com
• Amazon.co.uk

The Indigo Bird

An Erotic Novel by Max Markham

James Graveney, a young Major in a respectable regiment, is outwardly conventional. In private James is bisexual, with a strong urge for his own sex. Gay sex, however, is illegal in the Army, so he is discreet about this.

James’ world is turned upside-down when he meets Lieutenant Richard Finch. Richard is intelligent, charismatic and exceptionally handsome.  He doesn’t mess around. He gets what he wants, and is completely unscrupulous about how he gets it. Richard will stop at nothing to achieve this, including Machiavellian deception and a cunning and brutal murder.  James starts responding to Richard, cautiously at first, then gets swept along on the great love affair of his life.

The Indigo Bird is a rollercoaster of surprises set against backdrops varying from the jungles of Belize to London, the English countryside, and Ireland, and the scene is set for more shocks and adventures. [Read more...]

In my novel The Indigo Bird I have made passing reference to the disbanded Irish regiments of the British Army, especially the Connaught Rangers.  They feature more importantly in the sequel, The Vertical Land.

Following the Irish War of Independence six Irish regiments of the British Army that had recruited mainly in the counties that would now form the Irish Free State were disbanded. On 12 June 1922, at a solemn ceremony at Windsor Castle, King George V received the colours of five of these Regiments and a regimental engraving on behalf of The South Irish Horse, since they possessed no colours or standards. King George then made the following promise:

”I pledge my word that within these ancient and historic walls your Colours will be treasured, honoured and protected as hallowed memorials of the glorious deeds of brave and loyal Regiments”.  The colours are still there. I saw them recently at Windsor. The regiments in question were:

• The Royal Irish Regiment
• The Royal Dublin Fusiliers
• The Royal Muster Fusiliers
• The Connaught Rangers (aka “The Devil’s Own”)
• The Prince of Wales’ Leinster Regiment
• The South Irish Horse (which had no colours but presented an engraving to the King).

The future of the Connaught Rangers was in any case in doubt, given that on 28 June 1920 five men from C Company of the First Battalion at Wellington Barracks, Jalandhar, India, had decided to protest against the effects of martial law in Ireland by refusing to soldier. They were soon joined in their protest by other Rangers, declaring that they would not return to duty until British forces had left Ireland. The protest spread to the Connaught Ranger company at Solon.  However the third Connaught Ranger company at Jutogh remained loyal. A party of men led by Private James Daly made an attempt to recover their arms, storming the armoury. The loyal guard successfully defended it; two of Daly’s party, Privates Patrick Smythe and Peter Sears, were killed in the firefight. Within days both garrisons were occupied by loyal troops; Daly and his followers surrendered and were taken prisoner. Eighty-eight mutineers were court martialled: nineteen men were sentenced to death (eighteen later had their sentences commuted to life imprisonment). 59 were sentenced to 15 years’   imprisonment and ten were acquitted. Daly was shot by firing squad on 2 November 1920. The Rangers became Irish Nationalist heroes. The remains of Daly, Smythe, Sears and two comrades who died in prison were repatriated to Ireland in 1970, where they received an official funeral.

In fairness to the Connaught Rangers it should be stated that the Second Battalion remained loyal and that during the 1916 Easter Rising there had been no desertions or mutinies, despite the fact that the Rangers were soon deployed to Ireland to fight against the rebels. None of the Connaught Rangers were killed but one was wounded. In the days after the Rising the Connaught Rangers patrolled the Irish countryside and raided Irish homes. They captured hundreds of rebel volunteers and their weapons. A number of Connaught Rangers, who were in Dublin at the time that the Rising broke out, immediately volunteered to join other British army units, including the Royal Irish Fusiliers and the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, to fight against the rebels.  But by 1920 their loyalty was under great strain.

There was always a tension at the heart of these regiments. The soldiers were not immune to Nationalist sentiment. They handled it by cultivating a fierce loyalty to the regiment and, until that became impossible, to the King or Queen, while often disliking intensely the British Government; its policy towards Ireland; and the Anglo-Irish ascendancy.

The loss of these regiments must have had a significant impact upon the British Army, when one considers that the army commanded by the Duke of Wellington in the early 19th Century was comprised of one third Irishmen. During the First World War half a million Irishmen served voluntarily in the British Army, representing about one eighth of the total population of Ireland. In the Second World War the majority of the British Army’s Field Marshals were of Irish extraction. They included: Alanbrook (born in France, but the youngest child of Sir Victor Brooke, Baronet, of Colebrooke, Co. Fermanagh); Alexander (born in London, but a son of an Irish Peer, the Earl of Caledon, whose seat was in Co. Tyrone); Auchinleck (born in England, but his family were also from Co. Fermanagh); Dill (born in Lurgan, Co. Armagh); Gort (born in London but a member of the Prendergast Vereker family, an old Anglo-Irish noble family); Templer (born in Ulster and first commissioned into the Royal Irish Fusiliers); and Montgomery (born in England but the family seat was at New Park, near Moville in Co. Donegal). Although independent Ireland remained neutral – and, in the view of General Eisenhower, far too sympathetic to the Third Reich – and while there was no conscription in Northern Ireland, very large numbers of Irishmen, Northern and Southern,  volunteered to fight in the British forces against the Axis powers.  On their return to the Republic  they often suffered discrimination in jobs and housing and in some cases were shot by the IRA. So much for fighting against fascism!  The Irish soldiers who fought for Britain in its imperial wars and the First and Second World Wars were known for their dash and bravery.  It is not surprising, although it is also ironic, that some of the earliest SAS soldiers, like Roy Farran and “Paddy” Mayne were Irish.

Irish regiments continued to serve with the British Army, based in Northern Ireland but in practice recruiting all over Ireland. They included the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, the North Irish Horse, the Royal lnniskilling Dragoon Guards, the Royal Irish Hussars in addition to the Royal Ulster Rifles, the Royal Irish Fusiliers and the London Irish Rifles.  As a result of swingeing cuts and mergers, there are now only two left: the Royal Irish Regiment, which has been reborn phoenix-like, following the merger of the Inniskilling Fusiliers with the Ulster Defence Regiment, and the Irish Guards, who are part of the Household Division. The London Irish Rifles, a Territorial regiment, survives – just – at company strength.  They were based in Duke of York’s Headquarters until 2000, when they moved to Flodden Road TA Centre, Camberwell.  They still wear the Irish caubeen beret. In addition, many Irishmen serve in parts of the armed forces that are not specifically Irish by designation.

The divorce between Britain and Ireland was prolonged and painful; particularly in the Army. As recently as the 1970s, I was training on Salisbury Plain where the demonstration battalion at the School of Infantry was the Royal Irish Rangers. They were not permitted to serve in Northern Ireland and tended to get given this type of role.  Speaking to some of the soldiers, I was struck by how many were from Dublin and places in the Republic. I had to be tactful when asking them about their reasons for joining the British Army, but the answer was usually “my father (or my grandfather) was a British soldier”.  It was the family tradition and it was being kept alight, even though they faced potential difficulties when home on leave. None of them seemed to take the Irish forces seriously. The modern Irish Army has not inherited the traditions of the old Irish regiments.

For more information on the subject, see also:

• The Royal Irish Regiment
• The Connaught Rangers Association
• The Royal Dublin Fusiliers
• The Prince of Wales’s Leinster Regiment Association

The Indigo Bird

An Erotic Novel by Max Markham

James Graveney, a young Major in a respectable regiment, is outwardly conventional. In private James is bisexual, with a strong urge for his own sex. Gay sex, however, is illegal in the Army, so he is discreet about this.

James’ world is turned upside-down when he meets Lieutenant Richard Finch. Richard is intelligent, charismatic and exceptionally handsome.  He doesn’t mess around. He gets what he wants, and is completely unscrupulous about how he gets it. Richard will stop at nothing to achieve this, including Machiavellian deception and a cunning and brutal murder.  James starts responding to Richard, cautiously at first, then gets swept along on the great love affair of his life.

The Indigo Bird is a rollercoaster of surprises set against backdrops varying from the jungles of Belize to London, the English countryside, and Ireland, and the scene is set for more shocks and adventures. [Read more...]

Now that I live in the area they call New England for over twenty years, I have learned more about homosexuals, gays or lesbians alike, than during my entire life in Germany. Take this statement as expressing an observation, not a judgment. After all, I lived in Northampton, Massachusetts for about eight years and thoroughly enjoyed it. For those who don’t know, the saying is that Northampton has the highest concentration of lesbians in the nation. I also made several visits to Provincetown where a gay presence is all too obvious. And no, this does not make me a heterosexual expert in all things gay and lesbian, but I can say that my contact with gays and lesbians has extended my horizon, and, in my opinion, that is always a good thing.

It is somewhat funny, though, talking to homophobics about the “gay issue.” I have heard questions like “Why are they doing this?”, and, honestly, my answer is “Just to anger us.” It gets them thinking all the time, because explaining to them that homosexuality is not a choice, but a different lifestyle, doesn’t come with the same impact.

Then there is the attempt of displaying tolerance by saying “I don’t care what these people do in their bedroom, but…” Here we have it. Gays and lesbians always have sex. Sex, sex, and nothing else but sex! Do I detect some jealousy here?

I strongly believe that homophobics are missing out on many things. I remember buying a shirt in Provincetown, and the sales guy, the shoulder-long hair tucked up and wearing two inch long, painted fingernails, looked at me for just a split-second and knew my exact size. Trying the shirt on was actually a waste of time. I also remember getting a haircut in La Jolla, just north of San Diego, and I had a delightful conversation with the male hairdresser, while his boyfriend watched us with obvious jealousy.

But homophobia also comes, very obviously, with a dark side. Some time ago, I dared raising the theory that British Captain Robert Nairac might have been gay. Nairac was a British Army officer who was abducted during an undercover operation and killed by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA) in 1977. Nairac’s entire life, as far as it is recorded in books and articles, was full of, at first sight, inexplicable behavioral patterns, specifically suicidal tendencies, most prominently displayed by a death wish.

However, when a tendency to a homosexual lifestyle was applied, these patterns made sense. Not only was Nairac an army officer, but he was also a devout Catholic. Catholicism condemns a homosexual lifestyle, specifically sexual intercourse, as a sin. Needless to say, that gays were, at least not officially, not allowed to serve in the army in the 1970s. Also, needless to say that Nairac did not enjoy the support of his family, and even to this day they refuse to discuss his private life. John Parker, who wrote Secret Hero – The Life and mysterious death of Captain Robert Nairac, writes in his book “In deference to his family, Robert Nairac’s personal and private life will not form part of this book, other than in passing references.”

I have received some heat from readers in the United Kingdom, calling my theory outrageous, but, after all, I will stay with it. And, if in doubt that homosexuality in combination with a lack of support system may cause suicidal tendencies, I strongly recommend reading It Gets Better: Coming Out, Overcoming Bullying, and Creating a Life Worth Living by Dan Savage and Terry Miller.

Besides the criticism, I also received support of my theory, namely by Max Markham. Max Markham is a gay writer living in London. Markham has had a picaresque life, often with a military flavour; a lot of his friends are soldiers. His father and both grandfathers were in the Army. He has found himself doing temporary duty with the French forces and, on one occasion, facing the Territorial SAS as an enemy. He has managed to be in the firing line more than once: to date he has been in two coups d’etat, barely avoiding a third (in Yemen); one civil war; and narrowly avoided a firing squad (in the Democratic Republic of Congo).

Through numerous email communications with Max Markham, I learned to appreciate his sharp mind and his passion for details on all aspects that involved the life and death of Captain Robert Nairac. And this is, after a long detour, my story how I came to publish a gay erotic novel. I am officially a micro-publisher, and I started my publishing business originally to sell the technical literature I wrote. These days I represent a small number of authors, and Max is my third author from the United Kingdom. The thought comes to mind of what may be wrong with British publishers, because all my British writers sell very well.

Max wrote The Indigo Bird – An Erotic Novel. The Indigo Bird is about James Graveney, a young Major in a respectable regiment, who is outwardly conventional. Son of an English country gentleman, well educated, good-looking and sporty, James cheerfully sleeps around but does not ‘do love’. In private James is bisexual, with a strong urge for his own sex. For more information, please see Max’s section on this website.

I admit it, it is still a strange feeling that I now publish gay erotic literature, but I don’t have problems with the “gay” part of it. As I mentioned before, I learned to appreciate Max’s sharp mind and passion, and it shows in his writing. Everybody, who has interest in the genre, will find it to be an excellent reading.

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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 & Noble, and any other good bookstore.

Blood Knots, A Memoir of Fathers, Friendship and Fishing by Luke Jennings, Skyhorse Publishing, ISBN-10: 1-61608-587-8

Buy this book! In my last post, dated 24 April, I briefly mentioned, and recommended, Blood Knots by Luke Jennings.  This book was originally published in 2010, to very complimentary reviews. It has subsequently been reprinted as a paperback and a new American hardback edition has now issued. I have obtained a copy.  This may be the most eloquent testimony that I can give: I did so because my original copy, a paperback, had begun to fall to bits. I had carried it around in my briefcase, like a Jesuit with his breviary, and, if waiting to see the doctor, riding on the Underground, or otherwise forced to be inactive for a while, I would open it and read it. It is one of those rare books that you can open randomly at any page and find something enjoyable.  The American edition has the additional advantage of an excellent introduction by Thomas McGuane, author of The Longest Silence. My only criticism is that McGuane refers to Jennings’ mentor, Robert Nairac, as an SAS officer; he was in fact from the Grenadier Guards.

Click on image to buy from Amazon.Com

Luke Jennings is a renaissance man. In addition to being a serious angler and a brilliant writer on angling, he has written several novels and is the dance critic of the Observer newspaper. An apparently devout Catholic, although he deplored the modernising changes that emerged from Vatican II, he was educated at Ampleforth Abbey, the Benedictine monastery in Yorkshire whose school, Ampleforth College, is regarded as “the Catholic Eton”.

As a child in the 1960s, Jennings was fascinated by the streams and lakes near his home. His father, a courageous cavalry officer badly burned in a tank battle in 1944, was not a fisherman and could not have angled, given the horrific injuries that his hands had sustained. He did however buy his son his first rod, setting him on a path that would lead to many waterways, from chalk trout streams in Southern England to dangerous hidden canals in north London where great pike lurk among the abandoned trolleys and other rubbish, and muggers and prostitutes lurk among the canal-side undergrowth. Jennings’ father, who comes across as modest, truthful, deeply moral and quietly heroic, was his first mentor and helped to set his moral compass, as well as gradually introducing him to country pursuits.  Other Fathers, the monks of Ampleforth, also helped: quietly preparing boys not for material success in life, but for right living and holy dying.

At the age of twelve Jennings had the luck to encounter for the first time Robert Nairac, then aged eighteen, who had just left Ampleforth and was spending a gap year as an Assistant Master teaching History at Jennings’ prep school before going to Oxford to read Mediaeval and Military History.  After Oxford he joined the Army. He and Jennings were destined to be friends for just ten years. Nairac proved to be an inspirational teacher, whose tuition extended beyond the classroom to introducing his protégé to serious angling, including dry-fly fishing; shooting and falconry. So began an enlightening, but often dark-shadowed journey of discovery. It would lead to bright streams and wild country, but would end with his mentor’s abduction, torture and murder by the IRA in 1977.

Robert Nairac was as great a moral influence as Jennings’ father. He was an old-fashioned and devout Catholic or almost mediaeval intensity, as well as a fanatical devotee of field sports; the two, religion and sports, being mystically – and sometimes bloodily – entwined in Nairac’s scheme of things.  Jennings sums up Nairac’s lesson far more eloquently than I could: “I understand now why Robert was absolutist in his method, and why he spoke of honour and dry fly in the same sentence.  Because the rules we impose on ourselves are everything – especially in the face of nature which, for all its outward poetry, is a slaughterhouse. It’s not a question of wilfully making things harder, but of a purity of approach without which success has no meaning. And this, ultimately, was his lesson: that the fiercest joy is to be a spectator of your own conduct and find no cause for complaint.”  How many of us are in that happy position? It seems that Nairac was.

The book has an elegiac quality. Another of Jennings’ angling friends (pike angling in this case) was Rene Berg, the musician, vocalist, guitarist, and songwriter. He too died young in 2003. The cause of death was not an overdose but a culmination of depression and years of hard living and drinking taking their toll.

Blood Knots is a great book on angling but, like Izaak Walton’s The Compleat Angler, it can be read and enjoyed as literature by non-anglers. I have done very little fishing but finished the book at two sittings. It is un-put-downable. Two people to whom I gave copies – one a keen angler, the other a non-angler – found it equally irresistible. Part of the pleasure of reading it is the concisely elegant prose, which is worthy of a seventeenth-century writer. I do not know Jennings but suspect that he is very familiar with the writings of Sir Thomas Browne, Robert Burton and George Herbert. If you are only browsing the book, read Chapter 17, the shortest chapter, devoted to Claude Lorrain’s painting Landscape with the Nymph Egeria in the Capodimonte Museum in Naples (and yes; it is relevant to the theme).  ‘Past, present and future are one’.

The Indigo Bird

An Erotic Novel by Max Markham

James Graveney, a young Major in a respectable regiment, is outwardly conventional. In private James is bisexual, with a strong urge for his own sex. Gay sex, however, is illegal in the Army, so he is discreet about this.

James’ world is turned upside-down when he meets Lieutenant Richard Finch. Richard is intelligent, charismatic and exceptionally handsome.  He doesn’t mess around. He gets what he wants, and is completely unscrupulous about how he gets it. Richard will stop at nothing to achieve this, including Machiavellian deception and a cunning and brutal murder.  James starts responding to Richard, cautiously at first, then gets swept along on the great love affair of his life.

The Indigo Bird is a rollercoaster of surprises set against backdrops varying from the jungles of Belize to London, the English countryside, and Ireland, and the scene is set for more shocks and adventures. [Read more...]

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.

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.

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

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.

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 Bleeding Hills - A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

As a writer you cannot only expect praise for your work, but also criticism. That is just human nature. I have learned to live with criticism, and, knowing that I am not the ultimate source of all wisdom, I am willing to listen and learn as long as the criticism is constructive. The situation becomes very difficult, however, when your writing hurts the feeling of a person, and that person accuses you of false reflection of a certain event or person through means of superficial research.

That is exactly what happened to me a few days ago. Two of my entries on my blog got the attention of Natalie, who apparently lives in the United Kingdom. She responded to my blog entry Robert Nairac – Hero, Butcher, Homosexual…? as follows:

“I would be very interested in talking to you! You seem to have a cavalier approach to researching for your book and make extremely tenuous links.

I can state quite catagorically that Julian ‘Tony’ Ball was not psychotic and did not take drugs. Though he did bite his nails, this is a family trait.

Robert came from a very loving middle-class family who would be mortified to read you diatribe. He was not gay and if he was he would have been able to face it in the same way as he faced his life and death, with style and dignity.”

You can see her comment and my answer at the bottom of the entry. She left another, similar remark at the entry  Robert Nairac – Supplement to previous entry. We also initiated a brief communication through Facebook (see my Facebook reference to the right hand side of the screen), and I found out that Julian Ball was her father. After a few exchanges we decided that we both had made our points and to leave it at that.

Even though I felt sure that the research for my novel was meticulous, it leaves a bitter aftertaste when you hurt the feelings of somebody with something you wrote, and, naturally, doubt arises. As a result, I spent all of yesterday and this morning – starting at 5:30 am – with further research on the subject of Julian Ball and Robert Nairac. Without going into details – it doesn’t make sense to drag this matter on and on – I was relieved to find that my research was not flawed. Let me also state that my references to Julian Ball and Robert Nairac in my novel add only one small aspect to the Irish troubles as it takes place in my novel.

I will follow Natalie’s advice and I will read ‘Big Boy’s Rules‘ by Mark L. Urban, a book exploring covert operations against the IRA from the mid-1970s to the Loughgall shooting in 1987. I did, however, take the liberty of adding a highly controversial book to my reading list, ‘War Without Honour: True Story of Military Intelligence in Northern Ireland‘ by Fred Holroyd and Nick Burbridge.

Interesting enough, but both books were hard to come by and seem to be out of print. I managed to buy used copies through Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk. I will follow up on my readings by writing reviews on this blog.

]]> http://frogenyozurt.com/2009/10/a-writers-lament/feed/ 0 http://frogenyozurt.com/2009/06/robert-nairac-supplement-to-previous-entry/ http://frogenyozurt.com/2009/06/robert-nairac-supplement-to-previous-entry/#comments Sat, 06 Jun 2009 10:29:58 +0000 Editor http://www.frogenyozurt.com/?p=337 The Bible contains six admonishments to homosexuals and 362 admonishments to heterosexuals. That doesn’t mean that God doesn’t love heterosexuals. It’s just that they need more supervision.
- Lynn Lavner

The Bleeding Hills - A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

I would like to follow up on my entry “Robert Nairac – Hero, Butcher, Homosexual…?“:

The research on Captain Robert Nairac continues and I have found some more, interesting references. One is a blog, where I, among a mind-boggling large number of blubberings, found one entry referring to Robert Nairac as being gay. More interesting than the claim – which, in this specific case, was without any substance – was an alternative explanation of irrational behavior by British soldiers: “…watched a program a few months ago on the psychological stress of combat etc in the British army, and other issues such as mistreatment, bullying etc. Turns out of any regiment in the british army the SAS have the highest suicide rate according to the Psychiatrist in the program. He has raised this issue thru his MP with the UK MOD and they would not comment, classified information etc.”

The second reference (An article in the Sunday Mirror – June 10, 2001) is about a woman falsely claiming that Captain Robert Nairac fathered her son. This article openly addresses Nairac’s homosexuality, for instance, “…those who knew Nairac from his days working in south Armagh said the Grenadier Guards captain was known to be gay. “We all knew Nairac was a homo-sexual. He was having a relationship with a member of the Armed Forces in one of the camps,” said a former soldier last week.”

At this point I am satisfied with the view that my suspicion, that Nairac may have been gay and/or the victim of sexual abuse during childhood, is not without substance. I take the research for my novel seriously, and while I do have the liberty of “distorting the facts”, I wouldn’t want to include claims just based on a hunch.

The Bleeding Hills - A Novel by Wilfried F. Voss

During the research for my book “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 (For more references see the hyperlinks at the end of this article). While Irish republicans consider him a butcher, and the British Army calls him a war hero, they all share the view that “he was strange” – to use a mild expression.

First of all, after studying various articles on the life and death of Robert Nairac, I have come to the conclusion that Nairac was driven by a death wish, a point that may not be disputed by many of those who knew him. My next conclusion may be, however, far more controversial. After applying a simple method of studying behavioral patterns and comparing it to recent as well as historical cases, I have come to the personal conclusion that Captain Robert Nairac was either gay and/or the victim of sexual abuse during his childhood.

Before I go into further details let me make a statement to counter some 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 Nairac’s irrational behavior. An irrational behavior is not necessarily a typical gay feature, but the development of a homosexual identity is a complex and often difficult process, especially in an environment that is either ignorant of or openly hostile towards homosexuality (as much can be assumed of the British armed forces during the 1970′s). I believe, Nairac, during the years before his death, had trouble dealing with the so-called second phase of “coming out”. The first phase, the internal coming out, is the realization that one is open to same-sex relationships. The second phase involves one’s decision to come out to others, e.g. family, friends, and/or colleagues, which would have been a daunting task for Nairac considering the times and society he lived in. He had to deal with social isolation, the feeling that he was different from peers, feeling guilty about his sexual orientation, worrying about the responses from family and loved ones, fearing discrimination, and the fear of being rejected and harassed by others.

Nairac has been described as being highly intelligent, cocky at times, being a loner, but nevertheless liked the limelight, not a Smiley figure content to stay in the shadows, was instilled in his psyche with a kind of romantic intensity, single-minded and charismatic. He went to Oxford to study medieval and military history and here he showed the first signs of standing out from the crowd. He kept a trained hawk in his bedroom and wore a Grenadier Guards uniform during exams (Michael Jackson comes to mind). After Oxford Nairac attended the Sandhurst military academy, and while most soldiers tried to avoid the province, Nairac volunteered to serve in Northern Ireland. A colleague described him as having “another element which made me think that I couldn’t quite trust the guy or begin to work him out.” There are many more, very similar comments about Nairac, indicating a great deal of ignorance on behalf of the sources, which is understandable considering that at today’s times we are much more familiar with lesbians, gays, and bi-sexuals than 1970′s Europe.

Nairac also showed a tendency towards the flamboyant. He was seen heading out on patrol, just on his own, parading through the streets of Belfast, wearing a cowboy hat, trainers, and a pump-action shotgun, which is, needless to say, against British military code. The recklessness of his actions must be seen under the aspect that he, in his capacity as an undercover agent, had been frequenting local IRA or loyalist bars. That was also the case the night before his lone parade and it took place in the same neighborhood (I am reminded of the movie Die Hard With A Vengeance where Bruce Willis wears a sign “I hate N…” in the middle of Harlem). Talking about a death wish. As reporter Eamann O’Neill of the Esquire put it, “To describe this as reckless would be generous. Perhaps Nairac simply thought he was different, that the normal rules didn’t apply to him … that he had ruled himself out as a target. Perhaps he was working to a secret agenda. Perhaps he was out of control.” I say, perhaps he, the Roman Catholic, felt guilty about his sexual orientation and was looking for punishment.

Nairac has often been compared to another British war hero who had displayed a similar strange and self-destructive behavior. This man was Thomas Edward Lawrence, most famously known as Lawrence of Arabia. Both men, Nairac and Lawrence, are considered war heroes, yet showed a pattern of irregular behavior, even a death wish. Some historians had suspected that Lawrence was gay, especially since he had once written that he did not find homosexuality morally wrong, but nevertheless distasteful. Like Nairac he was looking for punishment; he hired people to whip him. Many photographs show Lawrence wearing an Arab garb, which can also be seen as an affiliation with the flamboyant.

There are two other, very famous examples of gay people who went through the same process as Nairac, ironically at the same time and in the same country, however, with a less destructive tendency. Those two examples are Elton John (born 1947) and Freddy Mercury (born 1946) – Note: Nairac was born in 1948.  Let’s recap some of Nairac’s properties: Highly intelligent, cocky, liked the limelight, romantic intensity, charismatic. The same attributes apply to Elton John and Freddy Mercury, who both had the luxury of coming out in an environment where homosexuality was increasingly accepted as a different form of lifestyle. They both had their difficulties, though, going through the phases of coming out. Elton John, for instance, married a German woman in 1984, until, after the divorce four years later, he came out as gay. Freddy Mercury had a long-term relationship with a girlfriend before he started sexual relationships with other men. Both men went through phases of flamboyant public display. On a side note, Mercury always desribed himself as an introvert in private life. The extravert personality came only out during his performances.

Still, features like being highly intelligent, cocky, liking the limelight, owning a romantic intensity, and being charismatic does not provide enough evidence for homosexuality. However, add to this the typical features during the ”coming out” phase such as social isolation (Nairac has been described as a loner) and a tendency towards depression, even suicide. In his article titled “shadow man” Eamann O’Neill quotes a former high-ranking military source as saying, “It’s simple: Nairac didn’t just stick his head into 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.”

During his duty in Northern Ireland, especially between 1974 and 1977, the year he was killed, Nairac has been accused of planning and/or executing a considerable number of shootings and bombings targeted against Republicans and Loyalists alike. In 1974 Nairac partnered with an SAS man, Julian “Tony” Ball, and it is said that Nairac “was going out with Ball in the evenings, shooting Catholics one night and Protestants the next.” In military terms this irrational pattern could be explained as “working the enemy”, but these men were simply out of control and in the summer of 1975, on military orders, Nairac and Ball were split up. Ball died a few years later in a car accident, while Nairac’s self-destructive behavior seemed to have amplified after the forced break-up. Another movie comes to mind, Brokeback Mountain, where Jake Gyllenhall’s character, Jack Twist, is killed, because in the end he took too many chances. Like Jack Twist in the movie, Robert Nairac took too many chances in real life and that got him killed eventually.

There is still a great deal of speculation regarding the exact circumstances of Nairac’s abduction and killing and I would like to add another aspect to the abduction part. Let’s first look at some details that are widely agreed on: 1. Nairac displayed a behavior, including his cockiness, that rubbed some people the wrong way, 2. The men Nairac ran into were not IRA men, and 3. The men who beat and abducted him did not know who he was. Nairac’s killing was a far cry from a military-style execution and IRA seniors were furious about the circumstances of Nairac’s killing. There are speculation that the IRA themselves had turned over the suspects to the Garda and RUC. My conclusion is that Nairac’s abduction, at least initially, had nothing to do with the view that a spy was caught in the act. Nairac, intentionally or not, did provoke a brawl in the Three Steps Inn, which resulted in a severe beating in the parking area, his abduction and consequently his killing. The cause of the initial brawl is unknown to this day, but it may be that Nairac had simply provoked people with his cocky behavior. After all, it was almost closing time at the pub and nearly everybody, including Nairac, was drunk. In the worst case scenario it may even be that Nairac, drunk as he was, went too far and actually hit on one of the men. The last scenario would explain the intensity of the beating.

While I have made the case that Captain Robert Nairac was gay – because his behavior definitely points in that direction – I could not explain his violent side, which was the only atypical feature on Nairac. The only other explanation would be sexual abuse during his childhood and, until now, I had no evidence supporting this theory. Sexual abuse could mean that Nairac was unable to have sexual relationships with women or even maintain a long-lasting homosexual relationship. Sexual abuse would also explain his relationship with Julian “Tony” Ball, which was not necessarily a sexual relationship, but a partnership to commit violent acts for the sake of violence. Ball has been described as “a nasty bit of work — a psychotic … He bit his fingernails down to the white half-moons and was living on his nerves continually, possibly taking drugs.”

On May 21, 2009 I read an article in the Washington Post titled Pupils Abused For Decades in Irish Schools and there is no connection to the Nairac case. It did, however, trigger a thought and I started looking for similar abuse cases in Great Britain. Imagine my surprise that the most recently discovered case of sexual abuse took place at the Ampleforth College. Ampleforth College in North Yorkshire, England, is the largest private Catholic mixed boarding school in the United Kingdom. According to The Guardian (November 18, 2005), “For three decades between 1966 and 1995, a number of boys at the school endured sexual abuse at the hands of some of the monks who taught there, assaults that ranged from relatively minor incidents to, allegedly, rape.”

Robert Nairac attended Ampleforth College starting in 1959, which is outside the time range of the reported alleged incidents. However, I found another reference written by a former pupil who attended Ampleforth College between 1958 and 1963. I quote: “There were a lot of stories about sexual incidents among the boys and monks. Most of them were not true. Boys like to make up stories. Yet some of them were true. It was the practice that if a monk became too friendly with the boys he would be sent away to be a parish priest in Yorkshire, where he probably continued to seek out young boys.” The same source also writes “the housemaster rejoiced in summoning the boys to his study in rotation either to be beaten or to be given embarrassing and uninformed talks on sex, of which they had no experience and hence only theoretical knowledge. These summonings could often arise after the boy was asleep so that he had to be woken up. In this state the victim is more vulnerable.”

If my theory of sexual abuse is correct, it would be haunting to think about the many senseless killings that have been caused by these despicable actions. The blame is not only on those who committed the crime of sexual abuse, but especially on those who knew about it and looked away. Regardless of his sexual orientation and how history judges him, Captain Robert Nairac will remain one of the most charismatic characters of the Irish troubles and the account of his life and death will remain one of the most intruiging stories.

About the life and death of Captain Robert Nairac:
http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/sunday-life/news/nairac-an-undercover-hero-or-a-maverick-fool-13903699.html
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1020695/Heroic-undercover-soldier-Robert-Nairac-savagely-executed-IRA-Will-yesterday-arrest-solve-mystery-missing-body.html
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article3972512.ece
http://www.irishecho.com/search/searchstory.cfm?id=3862&issueid=90
http://samilitaryhistory.org/lectures/nairac.html

Child sex abuse at Ampleforth College:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/educationnews/3344090/Leading-Catholic-school-is-focus-of-abuse-inquiry.html
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article720925.ece
http://onwardoverland.com/articles/ampleforthabuse.html

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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

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.

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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.