SEARC'S WEB GUIDE - Seamus Ó Tuathail (born 1939)

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20th Century Ireland - Seamus Ó Tuathail (born 1939)

Seamus Ó Tuathail was born and educated in Belfast. He was a member of Sinn Féin and a former editor of United Irishman when he was interned without trial on August 9th, 1971. This extract is an account of his arrest, written while Ó Tuathail was interned in Crumlin Road Gaol. It was smuggled out of the prison by a visitor and was published in a pamphlet They Came in the Morning (1972). Following numerous reports of maltreatment of internees a Tribunal was set up to investigate their claims. The Compton Report found that the internees allegations merely constituted 'ill-treatment' and not 'physical brutality'. In 1975 Ó Tuathail joined the Worker's Party from which he later resigned. He is currently a practising Barrister.©

Five am approx. Woken by thudding at door. Breaking timber. Chair holds for about a minute. English accents. Flashlight. Steps on stairs. Room door kicked in. Pistol gleams in light, blinding.
'Get out.'
'Me: It's a bit early, isn't it?'
Lamp swings nearer, threateningly. 'Button your lip mate and out quick.'
'An Englishman's home is his castle.'
'You're not in England now mate - up.'
Get up. Dress. Officer and soldiers search house. Take some documents. One a speech by Thomas MacGiolla at ard-fheis. Also take me - at gunpoint.
Street lined with soldiers. No other movement. Quite dark, still. House fronts gleaming in softening dark. Hear a pistol crack some distance away. Around corner and into jeep. Sit down. Other prisoners here. One man mistaken for son. 'No talk you.' Drive at speed to Albert Street Barracks. More lorries, saracens here. More prisoners. Soldiers threatening and abusive. Looking serious. Taken into small office one by one from yard. Searched. Questioned. Personal belongings taken. Shoes taken. Name not believed. It should be like B. McMillen, Sean Dunne or John Garland. I was sorry. Shooed at gunpoint across rough rubble-strewn yard or barbed wire corral. Put in with other prisoners. More coming in. Soldiers saying we were to be shot. We were 'Fenian bastards', 'fucking Irish swine,' etc.
After half an hour, taken out one by one. Hands tied in front with strips of cotton. Frogmarched to lorries (two). About 25 prisoners in all by now. Could hear crowds jeering and cheering. Bomb blasts. Thompson sub-machine guns thumping. S.L.R's. Two plumes of smoke from fires to be seen. Onto lorries and sit down. One - Mr.Brady - has chair kicked from under him by soldiers as he gets in. Falls. Gets in second time. Driven off. More threats. Rifle butts aimed at feet. Driven to Girdwood Barracks. Standing waiting to go in.
Could see six men taken out by MP's [military police]. Forced to run and beaten by batons. Saw them coming back five minutes later being forced to crawl on hands and knees and being beaten. Blood on head of two. Feet bleeding. Told not to look at my guard. Taken in and photographed. Put sitting down in gym with about 100 others. Hands untied at door. After one hour Special Branch man starts calling out names. Batches of six taken out. Come back breathless, bleeding and limping. One lead in with blood pouring from head wound. Now I hear my own name called. Six of us in all. Grabbed on each side at outside door by MP's. Forced to run. Half jump, half dragged over low stone wall surround, through rose bed into field. Helicopter about 70 yards away. Propeller churning. Doors open. 'Run you swine.'
Kicked and thumped with batons. Police dogs snapping at either side of corridor. Soldiers jump in way. Knock you down. Fall and you are picked up. Kicked up ramp into helicopter. No sooner sitting that told 'jump out'. Now told 'bend down'. Then 'run'. Everything straightened up to run, kicked. Back to gym building. Flung through door. Struck wrist badly here. A joint military-RUC exercise in brutality. Now taken for interrogation to Special Branch. Two men. Asked solicitor. No chance. No comment. Name, address and little else.
'You could do four years for refusing to co-operate.'
Taken upstairs. Sit on floor in crowded room. About 170 there - air short and stuffy. I see Mike Farrell and other PD [People's Democracy] members. 'Bejayus the roof's come in.' Sit on floor facing portraits of English Queen and Prince Philip. See Belfast City Councillor, James O'Kane. See Frank McGlade. He's been in situation like this before. See a blind man led in. Another victory for the all-conquering British Army. Red caps compete to threaten men on floor. Their biggest win since Waterloo.
Batches of six men being called out and led off. Some no shirts. Pyjamas others. Blue denims and work clothes predominate. One man led in white overalls. Taken at work in Kennedy's Bakery. About 11 am now. Get a cup of tea. Now I hear my name called again. What had happened to the others? Led out to rear. Barbed wires rolls form short corridor. Soldiers with batons each side. Here we go again and I know I won't hold out much longer. I am at head of column. 19 year old behind.
'You got a certain message,' says RSM [Regimental Sergeant Major] Red Cap to corporal.
'Yes.' 'Do it then.' 'Come you lot - at the double.'
All six now running on sharp shingle, over a wooden L plank, onto red bricks upended.
Kicking, shouting, baton blows. Big RSM next to me.
'So you're important, now - you're not so important now.'
Tries to stamp on my feet. Misses. Sweet Jesus, how far to go.
'Through that dump.' Soldier skirts it. Rotten vegetables, broken glass, boxes. Now tree stumps. Hear the thumping of batons on bodies behind me. Screaming abuse. Can't very well understand English accent at that pitch. Must be their last stand.
See prison gates ahead. Flung down steps into D wing, Crumlin Road. Limping and bloody. But I had survived. Collapsed into cell. Forty-eight hours minus wash and exercise after that. © Searc's Web Guide 1997-2008

20th Century Ireland (1947-2000)
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