It was our daughter’s school sports day. We feared we might not get the weather for it. As we packed a sports bag in preparation to go the first clap of thunder pealed through the air. Signs were ominous. I looked up from the garden and black clouds hovered seemingly closer than clouds usually do, as if the weight of the moisture contained within was weighing them down. A deluge would soon be upon us. We might be the only ones there, I mused. My wife sent a text message to the principal hoping to get a rain check. No response. The woman was obviously far too busy to be looking at every text that came through.
The taxi arrived and it still had not rained. The greater the distance we put between ourselves and home, the less cloudy the sky became. At the school the sun was shining while parents watched over children frolicking on the grass or clambering over each other to get into the bouncy castle that had been provided for the day.
Last year we made the same but different journey. Her annual sports day was on but her school then was temporary and in a different location. It was my first visit to the new building. The lay out was conducive to a relaxed environment. Spacious and comfortable I was so pleased that my daughter was getting her education in conditions much better than I got mine. And I am not talking about the H-Blocks.
Once there we set up camp, first in the shade of the bicycle shed and then on the grass. Lying flat out as if on a Spanish beach it was not too long before my daughter summoned me to the first of her races. A medal eluded her on that one, largely because she allowed a competitor to cut across her, thwarting her stride. Rather than trip him as I would, she graciously held off. Compensation came in the wheelbarrow race where both she and her ‘barrow’ picked up a medal each.
My son, not yet at school, told me yesterday that his school is still being built. It isn’t. He will attend the same one as his sister but consoles himself with that for now. The school’s standard of education is excellent and we anticipate that he will be as bi-lingual as she when he comes of age. Today education and the Irish language were the last things on his mind as he bounced from one end of the castle to the other. Then the challenge came.
Prompted by his mother he invited – demanded is a more accurate term – me to race him from our ‘base camp’ to the wall at the far end of the school complex. Up we got and on the count of three away we hared it. Well, he did. It was more like the story of the Tortoise and the Hare but on this occasion the tortoise didn’t win. Overweight, overfed and under fit I stood no chance as his nimble frame literally made the running and I stumbled and fumbled in his wake. Two races, two victories to him. His demand for a third race was declined. Better to do it after the second contest than the twenty fifth. For as sure as the thunderstorm that was by now beckoning he would have raced until I dropped.
I then passed on the Dads’ race. On the previous occasion I came last and had no desire to prove that I could accomplish the same feat again. Despite the taunts of my wife I stayed put as a heaving mass of flesh wobbled its way up the field. Its ascetic form would only have been diminished by my presence.
Today was an Irish day. My wife loves it when our daughter engages me in spoken Irish. Her complaint is that it is not frequent enough. Although not a ‘culture vulture’ I realise I should make more use of my Gaelige so that my daughter can benefit from the conversation. It would also help create a more Gaelicised environment at home and help familiarise my son with the language prior to his first steps out the door to begin his schooling. And like the H-Blocks my wife too could grow to understand it without having to learn it.
Today I took some small steps toward making that possible. Surrounded by Irish speakers most of the conversation between myself and our daughter was conducted as Gaeilge, including the order to bolt for it when the skies opened and the downpour lashed us.
A wet end did nothing to dampen our spirits.
The taxi arrived and it still had not rained. The greater the distance we put between ourselves and home, the less cloudy the sky became. At the school the sun was shining while parents watched over children frolicking on the grass or clambering over each other to get into the bouncy castle that had been provided for the day.
Last year we made the same but different journey. Her annual sports day was on but her school then was temporary and in a different location. It was my first visit to the new building. The lay out was conducive to a relaxed environment. Spacious and comfortable I was so pleased that my daughter was getting her education in conditions much better than I got mine. And I am not talking about the H-Blocks.
Once there we set up camp, first in the shade of the bicycle shed and then on the grass. Lying flat out as if on a Spanish beach it was not too long before my daughter summoned me to the first of her races. A medal eluded her on that one, largely because she allowed a competitor to cut across her, thwarting her stride. Rather than trip him as I would, she graciously held off. Compensation came in the wheelbarrow race where both she and her ‘barrow’ picked up a medal each.
My son, not yet at school, told me yesterday that his school is still being built. It isn’t. He will attend the same one as his sister but consoles himself with that for now. The school’s standard of education is excellent and we anticipate that he will be as bi-lingual as she when he comes of age. Today education and the Irish language were the last things on his mind as he bounced from one end of the castle to the other. Then the challenge came.
Prompted by his mother he invited – demanded is a more accurate term – me to race him from our ‘base camp’ to the wall at the far end of the school complex. Up we got and on the count of three away we hared it. Well, he did. It was more like the story of the Tortoise and the Hare but on this occasion the tortoise didn’t win. Overweight, overfed and under fit I stood no chance as his nimble frame literally made the running and I stumbled and fumbled in his wake. Two races, two victories to him. His demand for a third race was declined. Better to do it after the second contest than the twenty fifth. For as sure as the thunderstorm that was by now beckoning he would have raced until I dropped.I then passed on the Dads’ race. On the previous occasion I came last and had no desire to prove that I could accomplish the same feat again. Despite the taunts of my wife I stayed put as a heaving mass of flesh wobbled its way up the field. Its ascetic form would only have been diminished by my presence.
Today was an Irish day. My wife loves it when our daughter engages me in spoken Irish. Her complaint is that it is not frequent enough. Although not a ‘culture vulture’ I realise I should make more use of my Gaelige so that my daughter can benefit from the conversation. It would also help create a more Gaelicised environment at home and help familiarise my son with the language prior to his first steps out the door to begin his schooling. And like the H-Blocks my wife too could grow to understand it without having to learn it.
Today I took some small steps toward making that possible. Surrounded by Irish speakers most of the conversation between myself and our daughter was conducted as Gaeilge, including the order to bolt for it when the skies opened and the downpour lashed us.
A wet end did nothing to dampen our spirits.
Today The Pensive Quill carries an article by guest writer, blanketman Thomas 'Dixie' Elliott on the topic of the 1981 hunger strike
Blanketmen: No Agenda Only The Truth by Thomas 'Dixie' Elliott
I feel I must respond to Donncha Mac Niallais who in his recent letter to the Derry Journal ‘defied’ any prisoner who was in the blocks at the time to deny that if a shouted conversation between Bik McFarlane and Richard O’Rawe happened it wouldn’t have been repeated at mass and on visits. Well I in turn wish to put my recollection on record just as I already did in the Gasyard debate.
I was in that wing with Bik and Richard at the time and I had previously shared a cell with Bobby Sands in the wing. As anyone who was on the protest would know I also shared a cell in H4 with Tom McElwee and we remained close friends. Tom gave me his rosary beads before he went on Hunger Strike and I still have them today. As I said at the Gasyard debate I did not hear the acceptance conversation between Bik and Richard as I was at the other end of the wing and I wasn’t going to lie about it. What I do remember is that there was a rumour at the time that the Brits had made an offer and Joe McDonnell wouldn’t have to die. I spoke to at least two other former blanket men from Derry recently and they too remembered the rumours. However rumours don’t prove anything neither does Donncha’s claims that he spoke to someone from Bik’s wing and he said that person didn’t mention an alternative offer direct from the British. How could that person know that the IRA were negotiating with the British Government if the ICJP didn’t know until told by Gerry Adams on the 6th July?
But lets get to the facts……When Richard O’Rawe first made these claims he stood alone against everything that Sinn Fein threw at him. At the Gasyard debate people were pushing to get in the doors. On the panel besides Liam Clarke and Brendan Duddy there were Willie Gallagher, Tommy Gorman, and Richard O’Rawe himself, all former Blanket Men; and someone who was actually on that Hunger Strike, Gerard Hodgins. A document was produced that was obtained under the Freedom of Information Act which outlined what the British were offering: four of the five demands. Brendan Duddy the Mountain Climber confirmed that this was indeed the offer he passed to the IRA and which they rejected. Gerard 'Cleeky' Clarke then came forward and admitted that he was in a cell beside Bik and Richard and that he had heard the acceptance conversation between the two, which was always denied by Bik. The whole Gasyard debate was filmed and is online if anyone wants to view it for themselves.
From the outset Bik said there never was an offer what-so-ever, then no concrete offers and he also said that the conversation between himself and Richard never took place. He actually said, “Not only did I not tell him. That conversation didn’t take place.” However Cleeky Clarke stood up and stated that it did indeed take place and Brendan Duddy confirmed that he took an offer containing four of the five demands to the IRA. Therefore this left a question mark over the claims of no concrete offers etc. Now after all this we now have Bik coming out and admitting that a conversation did take place and his comment was, “And I said to Richard (O’Rawe) this is amazing, this is a huge opportunity and I feel there’s a potential here (in the Mountain Climber process) to end this.”
This leaves us with the question, why weren’t the Hunger Strikers themselves fully informed of these developments? In a comm to Gerry Adams [which is reproduced in the book Ten Men Dead] dated 7.7.81, Bik said that he told the Hunger Strikers that parts of their offer was vague and the only concrete aspect seemed to be clothes and in no way was this good enough to satisfy us. Surely four of the fives demands amounted to a lot more than a vague offer and contained a lot more than just clothes? Not only that, the INLA members who were on Hunger Strike and their representatives stated they were never made aware of any offers from the British that contained what amounted to four demands. Gerard Hodgins, who was also on Hunger Strike and a member of the IRA, also publicly stated this. As well as all this, Bik told the Hunger Strikers on Tuesday 28.7.81 that “I could have accepted half measures before Joe died, but I didn’t then and wouldn’t now.” What he failed to say was that these half measures contained four of the five demands, as I’ve already pointed out.
The Hunger Strike eventually fell apart after the families started taking the men off the Hunger Strikes when they lapsed into unconsciousness, yet three days after it ended James Prior implemented four of the five demands.
During an RTE Hunger Strike documentary which was aired in 2006, Gerry Adams stated that he was unaware of the Mountain Climber initiative until after the Hunger Strikes had ended; surely as everyone who was part of the Prison protest or who even read the comms from Ten Men Dead would know this is untrue?
The whole argument has now gone from the Prison Leadership accepting what was on offer on July 5th to its rejection from outside and just why was it rejected. The families are entitled to these answers as are the friends and comrades of the men who died. What we don’t need is the usual attempt to smear those who ask these questions as ‘cheerleaders of an anti-republican journalist’, nor do we need Bloody Sunday brought into the debate. Those asking these questions are former Blanket Men with no agenda only the truth. I myself am not a member of any group nor party and I am now firmly opposed to the use of Armed Struggle as I saw too many give their lives for what was effectively on the table in 1973. We need closure in this and I feel that both sides need to come together in a debate open to all so that answers can be obtained.
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