A Soldiers Diary

David Ash served as a platoon commander with 1st Battalion, The Light Infantry (1LI). in Ardoyne 1971, Ardoyne again 1972, South Armagh 1973, and a week or two on 'Spearhead' deployment during the Loyalist General Strike in 1974. He also went into the Mountains of Mourne to guard reservoirs in April 1969, after the Silent Valley bomb attack, before the Army's general deployment on the streets in aid of the civil power that summer. The following are extracts from his diary at the time

Warning

Some may find the adult language used in this page offensive

1972 - Ardoyne, Belfast.

Friday 28th July 1972

The main body of the Battalion has now arrived from West Germany, and we are in operational control of the Ardoyne again. The RRW have gone, left Northern Ireland to their great joy, bound for some well earned leave. They lost a lot of men killed and wounded. Now it's our turn.

The platoon is on standby duty at the moment. We're in Saracens now, much less painful and awkward than the ancient pigs of last year, and rather more business-like. We have extra fire power, with Browning machine guns on each vehicle and additional armour protection.

Yesterday afternoon, we received a bomb threat to the Alliance Avenue shops opposite the Ring. I was sent out to seal the area off from traffic and pedestrians. It was a classic IRA set-up and we got ambushed. They waited until I had deployed the platoon into position.

The IRA opened fire on us from two separate positions initially. 10 Platoon was manning the Ring OPs, and they immediately returned fire over our heads with a GPMG. This was my first 'contact' out on the ground. I quickly re-deployed the sections. We skirmished to new positions to cover the gunmen's likely withdrawal routes down Berwick Road and Etna Drive, using fire and movement tactics. 10 Platoon continued to provide additional covering fire.

The men ran past me, skirmishing in pairs from one fire position to the next. They gave me rapid glances, and I noticed their faces had gone unnaturally white. Their eyes just seemed to say, "please get me out of this". Then Cpl Gahan's section came under fire from a new position. It was automatic fire again, rounds striking Gahan's Saracen, the noise echoing in the streets. After awhile, you couldn't tell what were echoes and what were real shots. It makes it impossible to establish where shots are coming from.

All firing ceased then, as suddenly as it had started. No casualties. No hits claimed. It was an interesting experience.

Tuesday 8th August 1972

We were out on daylight foot patrols in the Ardoyne yesterday. Pte Pearson got a bullet in the thigh, my first casualty. IRA snipers are clearly still at work in the area, or perhaps whole units are slowly returning to resume operations, now the dust has settled after Motorman.

Our foot patrols are now a bit more business-like than last year. We only go in with a minimum of two sections working in mutual support. Yesterday, I was patrolling south with a section through the waste ground between Etna Drive and Jamaica Street, while Sgt Spracklen moved with a second section parallel with me down Berwick Road.

Shots rang out somewhere ahead of me; the unmistakable Crack! Crack! Crack! of high velocity shots. But in these streets it's impossible to tell where the shooting is coming from. You get rapid weapon reports in one direction, then rapid echoes split seconds later in the opposite direction. The sounds tend to merge, making it impossible to distinguish the echoes from the actual shots. At the same time you get the whip-crack of bullets coming past you. But which way are they going?

It was fairly obvious the gunman was ahead of me on this occasion, and probably firing at Sgt Spracklen's patrol. I immediately doubled my patrol forward to try and outflank the gunman.

Then Sgt Spracklen's voice called urgently over the radio, "Crashcall! Crashcall! Crashcall! Junction Berwick Road and ... "

I raced across Etna Drive to the location. The shooting stopped. Young Pearson lay in a front garden, combat trousers dark red with wet blood.

A small crowd gathered on the street, some people running over with blankets and bandages. A woman said, "the bastard escaped over the wall", referring to the sniper.

Another woman urged people to form a protective barrier around Pearson. "Gather round so they can't shoot again", she said.

A third woman jeered at Pearson as he lay there. "Pity he never did the job properly!" She said, and spat at him. A man in the crowd immediately punched her in the face.

Pearson didn't seem to be in pain. "Looks like you've lost one of your Angels, sir", he joked [the platoon called themselves 'Ash's Angels']. His face was completely grey.

A black-suited Catholic priest came running over. "Get that fucking priest away from me!" Pearson cried out. The priest was told his services weren't required.

A Knights of Malta ambulance turned up and began unloading stretchers. Sgt Spracklen led their medics over to Pearson. The IRA use Knights of Malta ambulances for their own casualties. If Pearson was taken away by them he'd effectively be in an IRA ambulance, and there's no telling where he might have ended up! Eventually, our own ambulance appeared. The RMO had got lost trying to find us. Sgt Spracklen lost his cool and yelled at me in exasperation. "Which fucking ambulance, sir?!"

I told him to get Pearson into our own regimental ambulance. The RMO went to work. The Knights of Malta went on their way. We restored order without drawing any further sniper fire, and continued patrolling.

Not a good day's work by me. Unforgivable.

Thursday 10th August 1972

We got the codeword to go in on Swordfish [operation to arrest Martin Meehan, Provisional IRA 'Company Commander', Ardoyne] yesterday. There were several additional units from outside the Battalion involved. My platoon task was to provide the inner cordon at 19 Jamaica Street, where Meehan was supposed to be.

We roared in by Saracen, burst out onto the road, and deployed fast into doorways along the street. There was immediate panic and uproar. IRA lookouts ran off in all directions, long hair streaming behind them. Women screamed. Other women stood frozen to the ground, crossing themselves and praying aloud.

Sgt Spracklen immediately saw Meehan run out of the McGuigan house [19 Jamaica Street] and dash into number 32 across the road. We re-directed the arrest team, a troop of Marines, and they ran up the middle of the street to number 32, which is Mullen's house, another well known IRA family. Gunmen opened fire. The Marines returned fire and went straight in. Minutes later they came out with Meehan and doubled him away.

We then had to fight our way out of Jamaica Street and get back to Flax Street on foot. Missiles rained down on us from all directions, paving slabs, stones, and bottles. We skirmished back, firing baton rounds. Sporadic sniper fire started again. I flung myself down in a fire position amongst bomb rubble and fired two rapid shots at a gunman near the junction Herbert/Butler. He didn't fall, but disappeared. I think I was too out of breath to get a hit.

Once back in the safety of the mill yard, I followed the arrest team as they led Meehan inside. His arms were tied behind his back with plasticuffs. Base-rats leaned out of top floor windows to get a look at Meehan. They hissed loudly as he walked below them; classic, shabby behavior of men not involved in an operational role on the streets. Meehan remained totally silent and emotionless.

The platoon had a few casualties from crowd action; bad bruising, cuts needing stitches, and so on. They were in good order nonetheless, and it wasn't a bad do.

Friday 11th August 1972

Yesterday, the platoon went in to provide cover for a barricade removal. We were tasked to clear away the no-go barricade at the top of Etna Drive. Royal Engineers set about the job with armoured bulldozer things, while I sealed the area off from local interference. Violent crowds opposed us with lively rioting.

We had to fire riot guns endlessly. The crowd kept up a relentless bombardment of missiles. They used bottles, bricks, stones, ironmongery of every description, and lengths of steel pipe against us. They hurled the steel pipes at us in co-ordinated volleys, like waves of javelins. The endless sound of shattering glass in the street is very alarming somehow.

We fired volley after volley of baton rounds to keep them back. The Engineers worked at fever pitch to get the job finished.

A sniper opened fire during a lull in the rioting. A bullet struck the wall about two feet from Pte Bennett's head. He fired back immediately. I think his quick response discouraged any further sniper action. No casualties. No hits claimed

Tuesday 22nd August 1972

We were on foot patrols again this afternoon, two sections on the ground mutually supporting each other. We came under erratic sniper fire. No casualties. No fire returned. We weren't able to identify specific firing points.

People in these streets seem to pay little heed to shooting when it starts nowadays. I suppose they know they aren't the targets and are quite safe, as long as they don't get in the way of crossfire. But, I still find it a bizarre sight. A patrol can be pinned down under fire in one street; eight terrified men on the edge of life and death in a desperate firefight. In the next street parallel to it, mothers with toddlers in push chairs are walking down the pavement quite normally on their way to the shops. It feels weird!

Two women began to follow behind me at the bottom of Jamaica Street this afternoon. I could hear them discussing how tall they thought I was, deciding what size coffin I'd need.

"Six feet tall, so your man is", one of them said.

"Aye, six feet should do it", the other one said. "It'll be a six foot box for him. Six feet long, six feet down! That's where you belong right enough, fucking soldier you!"

They went off chanting my coffin dimensions, hooting and cackling with shrill voices. Then the shooting started again: Crack! Crack! Crack! Loud high velocity whip-cracks of bullets coming and going from somewhere. But where? You can never tell. The soldiers dive for cover and look at me for orders, faces gone completely white.

Wednesday 11th October 1972

Another gun battle at the Ring today, a running battle with the platoon out on the ground. There should have been casualties. I'm far too thick for this job whenever it really counts.

I was standby platoon back at the mill. As usual, a bomb exploded inside one of the Ring shops, number 100 Alliance Avenue, and I had to roar off in Saracens to deal with the thing again. The building was severely damaged this time, and a fierce fire was blazing in the ruins. There were crowds in Alliance Avenue, as well as at the north ends of Jamaica Street and Etna Drive, when we arrived. We came in from the east past the Fort.

I dropped off 1 Section east of the Ring, deploying them on the south side of Alliance Avenue. I left them to cover the waste ground and the east end of Stratford gardens. I took the remaining two Saracens on to the open ground in the middle of the Ring, and de-bussed the rest of the platoon there. Why on earth did I do that?

I tried to tell myself afterwards that I had to dismount there to move the crowds back from the burning, bombed out shop. But the truth is the crowds had been rapidly dispersing of their own accord anyway, and there was no need for me to put the platoon in such an exposed and vulnerable position. Naturally, the IRA gunmen were waiting for me to do exactly what I did.

They opened fire on us with automatic weapons from what seemed like numerous different positions simultaneously. The entry alley between Stratford Gardens and Eskdale Gardens was one of them. We ran across the open ground towards the Ring shops. The Browning gun on 1 Section's Saracen opened up to give us immediate covering fire. Pte Grimes tripped and fell into a barbed wire entanglement as he ran. 3 Section's Saracen also began firing its Browning. We pulled Grimes off the wire and made it to a position of cover.

Pte Mahony took cover behind Young's burnt out garage. He climbed onto the flat roof and settled into a fire position with his sniper scope. The IRA was quick to spot him. Patterns of red brick dust erupted around him as bursts of fire were directed at him. He began returning fire, just steady, aimed shots. A very cool young man.

We re-grouped north of the shops in the alley behind Sloane's newsagents. The IRA's main position seemed to be based around the south end of the Etna/Jamaica waste ground now. I decided to put in a right flanking attack on the position, using covering fire from 1 Section, the Ring OPs, and 3 Section's Saracen. I gave quick orders over the radio. Alex [Company Commander] was on the net, but behaving perfectly, just keeping quiet and letting me get on with it. No unwanted waffle or 'advice'.

I took the assault group across Alliance Avenue via the alley behind the bombed shop. The fire blazed furiously behind us. We formed up and made the dash down Etna Drive at full sprint. The Saracen Brownings opened fire noisily, with further rapid fire coming from the Ring OPs and 1 Section.

All shooting stopped as we turned into the waste ground through the Etna Drive gap. Reports came over the radio that the IRA had bugged out. We carried out a sweep, moving well spaced out, but there was no opposition. We went firm again at the north end of the waste ground. I called one of the Saracens down to our position for extra firepower and protection.

We came under fire again, now from the east end of Stratford Gardens. Rounds struck the side of the Saracen. I ordered 1 Section to mount up and do a mobile down Etna Drive, Berwick Road, and Stratford gardens. The mobile would give us the initiative and put a stop to any further movement of gunmen. It worked. There was no more shooting after that. 1 Section found two abandoned cars blocking off the west end of Stratford Gardens, but the Saracen drove over them without any fuss.

Water cannon arrived to deal with the fire. We provided cover for ATO, and set about restoring the area to normal. A TV team turned up and I made a brief appearance on the evening news, seen talking into my radio. They wanted to interview me in front of the cameras, but lowly Platoon Commanders like me aren't allowed to do that. We might say something naughty!

The platoon claim several hits during the action. But, we found no blood trails or bodies. The IRA is very skilled at removing casualties, and traces of casualties.

Wednesday 18th October 1972

Yesterday morning, the Glenard post office in Alliance avenue at the Ring was held up and robbed yet again. The OPs told me they saw nothing of it. It's thought the raid was carried out by four armed men.

More gun battles with the IRA during the night at the OPs; repeated attacks with single shot and automatic small arms fire. I had all three OPs manned with a good team in each position. Sgt Spracklen was in the northern OP, firing the GPMG himself. I had the centre OP. There were several close hits around the fire slits at both the northern and centre OPs throughout the night.

The IRA was using a variety of firing points, including the bomb ruins of the shop at 100 Alliance Avenue. Pte Graver got the gunman there. He watched and waited for just the right moment, saw the man for an instant and immediately fired four rapid shots using his starlightscope. The gunman's legs seemed to buckle under him and he fell backwards out of view.

During a lull between attacks, a woman appeared with a bucket and mop, washing blood off the street. That's always the sign of a confirmed hit.

Friday 3rd November 1972

Today, we were caught in a nail bomb ambush by children. We were in the Etna/Jamaica waste ground searching outhouses for weapons. Two soldiers suddenly came running towards us from the Etna Drive gap.

"Take cover!" They shouted at us. A nail bomb exploded in front of us. One of the two men went down immediately. Another bomb exploded behind us.

Instinctively, I kicked in the door to the back yard of the nearest house and ran inside. I ran through the house to the front door, which opened onto Etna Drive itself. The bombs were being thrown over the rooftops from Etna Drive. A gang of children, none of them more than ten years old, was in the middle of the street swinging paint tins by the handles with the nail bombs packed inside.

The children scattered. I returned to the platoon in the waste ground, where we had another casualty. The man had taken some shrapnel high in the back of his leg. He lay there with torn, blood soaked combat trousers, while a field dressing was tied onto his wound.

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