Football in the Compounds-Reminisces of a Hankie Ball Player

There was no Queens Park Strangers.  Certainly no Borrussia Munching Barnbrack.  And definitely no Real Madrid Street.  What we did have was Compound 21…or 16..or 18B…and the immortals—at least in their own minds– 19A.  In Magilligan, because compounds were given letters instead of numerals we had, on occasions AA playing against CB..or HB up against FA .  The Crumlin Road set-up was different again-less formalised football meant no leagues against other wings.  So it may have been landing against landing or just 2 teams made up from within whatever particular Wing being occupied at any one time.  In the early days football was a very haphazard affair.
You got it infrequently and there was little or no organisation involved.  Basically two teams were picked to play and it was more about getting out of the compound..sometimes in order to visit someone else at the wire.  There were always good players of course.  Some would have been known from outside before their incarceration.  As time moved on and football did become an important factor in jail life then of course it became more serious.  Too serious at times.
If someone was in remand who had a reputation of being a good footballer there was an effort from the different camps within the Kesh-or Magilligan-to get him in to a certain compound.  Now and again a mix would have been put in though and someone who was rumoured to be the next Charlie George and eagerly waited on turned out to be more like Charlie Drake when it came to football.  It was around 1976 that the soccer became a big thing in Long Kesh.  This was the year of the first inter-compound football tournament.
In Magilligan a similar venture had been in place from late 75.  Four Loyalist compounds-2 UDA and 2 UVF-formed 8 teams and played a league.  It was ultra competitive and had a record number of sending-offs.  The four elected sports reps-1 from each compound, myself included-took up the refereeing duties and this was a job in itself.  A bookie-in fact a number of them was in place in Magilligan-and this too made for some very combative and spirited encounters.  If I’m not mistaken the A team from Compound A-UVF-won that first tournament, finishing ahead of E compounds first team-UDA-and they had a number of good players in the team.
Some of those who spring to mind from the victorious A team were Bobby Rodgers-Victor Thompson-Rab McIntyre who had been for trials at Old Trafford and Davy Barr..who had been with a number of Irish League clubs including Portadown.  The other cages held other good players..Shane Hamilton (Chico ) and Guffer Liggett out of E–Danny Black and a couple of Rathcoole guys from Compound C and Jim Rossborough –a rumbustious and marauding centre forward out of H.  If this inaugural tournament was a success the initial one in the confines of Long Kesh was less so.

After many months of wrangling between the jail authorities and the representatives from the compounds the go ahead was given to commence.  Barely minutes into the first game in which the pre tournament favourites were playing each other-19 against 16—UVF against UDA—a deliberate tackle broke a players leg and the game was hastily abandoned—as was the league.  Although inter compound football continue in Magilligan until it’s closure in October 1977 it would be a long time before the idea was resurrected in Long Kesh.  In Magillgan in particular—perhaps because many of the matches were being bet on—there was a great interest from outsiders.  It wasn’t unusual to see the pitch ringed with a large number of screws—who of course would have had their own bets running—or indeed the IRA prisoners—lined along either D compound wire or along the fence of the other pitch-F.
Eventually it did kick off again and although there was the usual problems it never got out of control and by and large it was quite successful.  Spectator numbers were limited in an attempt to quell potential trouble and the notion that the next major incident could stop the mixed soccer for good seemed to work.

The truth is there was only a few inter compound leagues or cups in total and dwindling numbers—people getting out and the advent of the H Blocks which stopped others coming to the cages-meant that no longer could compounds field 2 teams.  By the time the mid eighties came around each compound was dependent on recruiting other players from different compounds to make the numbers up, otherwise the football would have ceased completely.
I played football behind many walls and wires in a “career” that stretched from 1973 until early 1990.  Many a professional would have been proud of that or the fact that conservatively those of us who served a heavy sentence and played an average of 2 games a week—EVERY week-would have racked up around 1500 appearances!!  Some going on all weather pitches—and many of us still have the scars and bumps-bruises and limps to show for it.  There was many hankie ball players but very few prima donnas in those days.  The stick would have been too much to take.  Magilligan led in many ways by supplying us with good quality kits and on occasions the proper balls.  For a long while Long Kesh trailed behind in this department and many of the kits were threadbare..hand me downs and distinctly second rate.  Boots were almost nonexistent for many years and unless you had your own sent in you were reduced to playing in trainers—old fashioned gutties—or at the start of proceedings just whatever you had.  Eventually, after many years the jail started supplying cheap Mitre boots and these became like gold dust.  They also went missing quite a bit so became much sought and looked after items. They also at one time supplied a brand of “trainer” that I believe were manufactured in D Wing in the Crum, and these were deadly.  They were the nearest thing you could get to a steel toe capped trainer and a hefty boot on the shin with one was sure to put you out of action for the next few matches.
Despite all these obvious drawbacks-manufactured or otherwise-many’s a good player graced the—well not turf—but the hard core of Long Kesh.  It is impossible to remember let alone mention them all but there are quite a few stick out in my mind.  Everyone will have a particular favourite and always with good reason.  There was the stylish players—the ball players—the Hardmen—the psycho’s who thought nothing of slide tackling on the gravel—or the goalkeepers who had to be mad to dive full length on basically concrete.  Then there was the dribblers—the selfish players—one’s it was rumoured you would need a Board paper to receive a pass from—the dry weather players—the ones who were legends—in their own mind.  There was huffers-and puffers and slabbers and wasters.  There was strokers and jokers and big girls blouses.  There was dead eye dicks and those who couldn’t hit a cow on the arse with a banjo.  But to all those who crossed the line thanks for all the memories.  I recently conducted a wee straw poll.  Contacted between thirty and forty ex prisoners—those fortunate enough to still be alive—and asked a simple question-“ Who was the best player you seen in prison”  To me the result wasn’t surprising.  I knew a lot of different names would crop up-and they did.  I knew a couple of names would appear near the top—and they did. Not surprisingly.  In the end only a vote or two separated two great footballers.  I was lucky enough to play with-and against-both.  One for far longer than I would have liked.. But-that’s Life.
The person who finished top of the pile in this particular poll was Geordie McKimm.  Geordie was only there for a couple of years but whilst he was he stood out-head and shoulders.  In modern day football he would be called a box to box man—he was a fantastic passer of the ball..great vision and could basically do what he wanted with the ball.  He was only a young man-20/21 and extremely fit.  A worthy winner I feel.  Only a vote or two behind was Jimbo Tipping.  Jim was a Shankill Road man and had passed through Magilligan before arriving in Compound 19.  It’s no exaggeration to say that Jimbo was one of the best strikers of the ball I have ever seen.  When he hit them they stayed hit.  In the end it was hard to get goalkeepers for the other team when Jimbo was playing!!  Jim was strong—six foot plus—and a great header of the ball.  He had a superb all round game and for want of a better word was extremely “competitive”.  These two were comfortably clear of the rest of the field in the poll.  There were many other mentions but I would prefer to do is pick the eleven players who I think would make up the best team..going by the many hundreds of players I played with or against during my time behind the wire.  It is a personal opinion and is not definitive–neither right or wrong.  I stand to be challenged and would welcome some debate on it.  So here goes.  11 men..no subs.

Eddie Martin. Former goalkeeping apprentice at Notts County and went on to play for 5 Irish League clubs…as a striker.

Rab. McCreery.  Glentoran legend.  His brother Paul was also a smashing player..but no room for him in this team.

Clifford Healey.  Powerful centre half..very aggressive and unbeatable in the air.

Victor Thompson.  Assured and steady..could play as stopper or sweeper.

Cliff Whiteside.  Classy full back-great left foot and impossible to get past.

Bobby Rodgers.  Two footed—Good in the air for a small man-and great goalcorer.

Jimbo Tipping.

Geordie McKimm.

Shane Hamilton.  Hard to get the ball of..good passer and fantastic ball skills.

Colin McCurdy.  Colin went on to play for Linfield-Fulham and Northern Ireland.  Great athlete and super finisher.

Sammy Frickleton.  Sammy was a Scotsman I remember from the Crum.. He had played for Ballymena before imprisonment and went on to play for East Fife and Sligo Rovers—despite having a large King Billy tattoo on his chest!!

*** The poll also included some ex Block men and the names put forward there included Noel Large and the aforementioned Guffer Liggett.

“Beano”

Albums of the Kesh.

Bad Co./Bad Company-1974

In a year that brought us such melodic masterpieces like Wear It’s At by The Rubettes and the master-ful eponymous Quatro, 1974 can be remembered as one of the halcyon times for outstanding albums.  Think Court and Spark/Joni Mitchell—461 Ocean Boulevard/Eric Clapton—Diamond Dogs/Bowie—Planet Waves/Dylan—On The Beach/Neil Young—or perhaps one of the greatest live albums of all time-It’s Too Late To Stop Now by Van Morrison.  We layabouts in Compound 11 were certainly spoiled for choice and rather cash strapped laying out all those £2:20’s.  In between all the boot bulling-drilling-lectures-cleaning-route marching-exercising and protesting sometimes we were lucky enough to book an hour on the Dansette in the study hut to spin out personal favourites.  It has been well documented before that many albums were synonymous with Long Kesh…and by this time those that were most favoured would have been Tubular Bells—Dark Side of the Moon—Band on the Run and for the older generation known as the Sad Sacks—Porter Wagoner’s Greatest Hit or the Worst of Charlie Pride.  Albums like these, when being played always drew moans of despair from the younger prisoners and remarks about receiving free packets of blades with every album bought.
Bad Company was of course a manufactured band.  Singer Paul Rodgers and drummer Simon Kirke from the wonderful Free plus Boz Burrell from King Crimson and Mick Ralphs late of Mott the Hoople.  If the new amalgamation wasn’t being lauded as a new Supergroup-a la-Cream or to a certain extent CSNY– much was expected of them —-and they didn’t disappoint.  Rodgers’s voice was a powerful fulcrum for the band.  He epitomised rock and roll with his raunchy  much imitated voice andwith the band signed to Swan Song records—Led Zeppelin’s label-they had truly arrived with a bang.  The album-Bad Co.-was released early in 1974 with the first single coming right away.  Can’t Get Enough of your Love remains the bands highest charting single.  Although the song was credited to Mick Ralphs it could have been lifted straight from a Free back catalogue and rivalled Alright Now for intensity and rockability—testimony to Rodgers wondrous voice.  Indeed, such esteem was he held in, that in between the breakup of Free and the formation of bad Company Rodgers was the number one choice to replace Jim Morrison as lead singer of the Doors after that talismans untimely death in July 1971.

Bad Company – Can’t Get Enough – YouTube

Bad Co. Was much played in Eleven that summer and for many of us was a great antidote to the saccharin sweet drivel that plagued the charts.  By the following year the same line up would regale us with another masterpiece-Straight Shooter complete with my personal favourite Paul Rogers lyric—“Johnny was a schoolboy when he heard his first Beatle song—Love Me Do I think it was……… “.  In 1976 they released their third album—Running With the Pack.  This album was a particular favourite  for one of my closest friends—in Cage 21—who used it for the next 12 years as a writing pad when composing letters home.  The myriad of inscriptions on it over all of those years would have given a cryptographer a few nights overtime in Bletchley Park, attempting to decipher the modern day hieroglyphics.  Both were great albums with some exceptional tracks but the immediacy of Bad Co. ensured that this was the album we—of a certain age and disposition—would remember them by.  We watched in wonder when we seen them on television performing on of their classic tracks..we dreamed of the day when we could wear those tight fighting loons, and platform shoes—rather than the quasi paramilitary garb we were now used to—to be allowed to grow our hair to almost unmanageable lengths rather than the short back and sides that was now regulation fare.  The music alone was what made us semi-rebels—and that was as good as it got.

Beano

Made for Life.

The room is square and stuffy. The paint threatens to fall in big powdery blue flakes. The lino floor is scrubbed clean but still exudes a dirty look.  There are no windows. Only one steel door secured from the outside. There are 10 of us here.  There is a strange mix of despair and fanatical hope.  Me, I am resigned to my fate. Perversely we are all dressed well.  I wear a tie for the first time in years.  At least if Im going to be hammered I’ll look well.  My emotions flip flop. I don’t care, then I really do care. But I already know what is going to happen. A deal has been arranged. Plead guilty and you’ll get of lightly. Just ’ life’ my solicitor said. Sounds easy.  You wait your remand time until this day. Glad to get it over with yet afraid to get it over with.  The death of my free life. But then again I did kill someone, in fact a few people.  I joined the organisation to be a soldier.  To fight, kill and die if need be. It has led me here Court Number 1, Crumlin Road Courthouse.  Or Belfast City Commission if you want to be picky. People walk in and out of the room.  One man comes back from the reserve court crying. The man (I don’t know him) has got 2 years prison and he’s gurning.  I feel like going over and slapping him.  But he’s a crim.  Some of my friends have got 35 years minimum. Different standard.  Different people. I am one of the lucky ones. I have special category status. Many do not. All the talk at the minute is about the H-Blocks and protests. I will return to the cages in the Kesh. To talk and walk and study.

This is a Diplock court. Only one judge.  No jury.  Most times no evidence at all except a confession.  Freely given of course, not beaten or threatened out of people you understand.  I wonder at the logic of using a criminal system to deal with a political problem.

Soon it’s my turn. The screw barks out my name.  I exit the door and am surrounded by screws who will walk me up the stairs to the dock.  I enter into the bright light which hurts my eyes.  The colours are bright. Anything is bright after a while in ‘A’ wing of the Crum.  I feel the tension in the screws that stand beside me. And there he is. Sitting on his own, right in front of me. I’m not even told his name. The blood red robes give him away.  He does look silly.  But I think, this is what I am defending.  The court is huge. There loads of other people but it still feels empty. Barristers and hangers on.  Peelers.  The press.  No doubt the ‘Tele man’. More news to pass on. I have asked my family not to attend. Saves the pain on them and on me.  This is the loneliest place in the world. The people on my right I don’t recognise. Victims’ families? There is a curious expression on their faces.  Not hate nor hurt.  I did not know any of my victims nor do I know these people. I do feel sorry for their pain and misery. A loved one missing. I felt that way myself one time.  I expect some emotion, some outburst. But there is none.  I don’t want to stare. I catch one woman’s eye. It plain to see that she has been crying.

The clerk reads out the charges. There is a lot and it takes  a while.  At one point she takes a sneaky look at me.  ‘How do you plead’? I hear the word come out. It’s me but sounds like someone else.  ‘Guilty’.  The judge is saying something. I can barely hear him.  Can he not bloody speak up?  I lose interest.
I have a mix of feelings. Afraid yet calm. I did not do these things for myself but for my people,  my country.  Hundreds more will stand here like me,  young and idealistic.  Wanting to do their bit. Thousands will travel this path. Some will stay longer than others. I count myself lucky that Im here at all. I got winged by a .38 one night in an accidental discharge. It travelled through my shoulder without doing much damage.  We went to the back street doc who actually done a very good job.  I hurt for a while. Many of us have paid the full price for our beliefs and actions.  I wonder what,    “Dieu et mon droit”   means. Its written on the crest on the wall above his lordship.  God and my right?   It says ‘For God ‘on our badge.  I wonder who will get his backing.

Their voices drift off and I am suddenly back in primary school.  Its only 10 years ago.  Amazing.  I will be 20 years old in 3 days’ time. I’m sitting at my desk in school, looking at the window at the beautiful blue sky. I’m day dreaming of being outside kicking football or playing tig in the street.  I watch the fluffy clouds scud across the sky. I’m an ordinary boy interested in football, cheesers and going round to the sweetie shop.  ‘4 fruit salad for a penny please’.  I remember my Granny’s house. The smell of home baking, of fresh linen and  carbolic soap in the sink. My Granny spoilt all of us rotten. I loved her. What would she think today? I had never dreamed of killing people or belonging to one of the most violent organizations in Europe. But then again I never dreamed of the killing and carnage I would see as a child.  The bombs exploding.  My mother crying in fear.  I was a child but I put my arm round her shoulder. Walking behind a funeral with the anger and the sorrow.  We had played cowboys and Indians. In summer we ran and shot guns and arrows and laughed. We fell to the ground pretending to be dead. But we all got up at the end and went home for supper.  A thought comes to my mind that in my entire family not one person has been in trouble with the law. I’m about to make up for that.  Big time.

I suddenly realise my wigman is saying something. He’s much more clear. He says such nice things about me. This place reminds of a school trip to theatre.  Everyone knows their lines and the story and plot has already been set out. Maybe Dylan was right. We live in a land were justice is a game.  I have missed the first part of the sentencing.   I get snatches of what he’s prattling on about. ‘Shame’, ‘disgraceful’, ‘waste of life’.  I wish I could say ’are you finished yet’. But that’s not part of the script.  20 Years for possession, 20 years for  attempted, 20 years for that. The court is holding its breath.  What do they want from me.  Tears?  Pleading? Outburst?  I say nothing and look straight ahead.

Suddenly the screw pulls my arm.  At last, ‘let’s go joe’. And it’s down the steps. I hear one screw say to another, ‘Life sentence’. Sounds strange. Is that me? And I realise it is now.  Back down to the happy room. Faces look up at me. I feel nothing.  Just get back to the cell. I’m reading a good book at the moment. Wonder how it ends. Wonder how this will end?  Friends ask me what happened and I tell them. The room goes quiet. Another man is taken out. He too will get life.  When it is all over we are handcuffed together and walked back through the tunnel.  Instead of going back to A wing we am taken to another part, a virtual dungeon, to spend the first night.  No longer remand but sentenced. My big day has come and gone. A total anti-climax.  Tomorrow will be the first day of my new life.
The cell is dirty, damp and dark. A single bare bulb hangs from the high ceiling. The puke coloured paint is flaking off. I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling and thinking. Of empty chairs and tearful parents.

A Belfast Boy.

Another little example—if any more are needed–to de-bunk the seemingly widely held pre or mis conception that we Loyalist prisoners passed our time by swallowing steroids and watching pornographic movies.

Studying in the Kesh.

When I went to Compound 21 in 1977 I already had a head start I suppose by being a Full time student at the then Jordanstown Polytechnic undertaking an HND course. However I had already gained 2 A levels at grammar school and 7 O levels. As they were then.

I was surprised when I was in c. 21 of the focus on education.  But as I was somewhat good at art I had a choice to make between art and education It was people like Gusty Spence, David Ervine and Billy Mitchell that directed me towards education as I had a very long sentence and was going to be staying for a while.

This was the first time I had been told of some guy called Descartes I think therefore I am. Well I was thinking these guys had lost the plot. One man was studying philosophy and talking about existentialism. I’d never heard of it never mind what it meant. So my first dive into education was an art class. Pretty simple and a good interest. Because men were already studying the Open University I was pointed in that direction. At this time none of the Republicans were studying full time education through the prison, as it was against their policy. The H Blocks were just coming online with all the subsequent events that would take place there.

 As I wasn’t much into maths or computers I plumped for the Social Sciences Degree which would take in effect some 8 years to complete to an Honours level. However along the way I decided to make as much use of the education as I could. So along the way I gained A levels in Biology and Statistics. I’m not sure how I got the A level Statistics but it is amazing when you have the time and motivation what you can achieve. I gained the O levels in statistics, biology and art. I then also was able to gain qualifications in football coaching, boxing coaching and weightlifting. I had also had my first taste of yoga. I couldn’t stop studying. I undertook Irish history something blatantly missing from my secondary and grammar school education. I completed a short course on the structure of the European Union.

The education gave me a purpose and structure to my day. As well as completing my running, football and weights I was into writing letters,  reading anything (bar romance and westerns)  and watching TV. As the years rolled on and I gained my degree I could go no further so I took what I thought was a logical step and started the next degree. Science this time. However enough time has elapsed and I was seeing the start of the end game. On being released in 1990 I obviously thought I hadn’t enough of the education lark and I enrolled in two courses at Queens. Firstly a small Creative Writers course and then a MSc Course in Computer Science. Since then I have kept studying and have completed Diplomas and Certificates. At the grand age of 57  I hope to complete more education as long as I can.

Primo.