{"id":2887,"date":"2014-11-27T12:06:14","date_gmt":"2014-11-27T12:06:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.longkeshinsideout.co.uk\/?p=2887"},"modified":"2014-11-27T12:06:14","modified_gmt":"2014-11-27T12:06:14","slug":"tales-from-the-gulag-beano","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.longkeshinsideout.co.uk\/?p=2887","title":{"rendered":"Tales From The Gulag: Beano"},"content":{"rendered":"

Tales From The Gulag<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong>A Loyalist Prisoner tells of the last few hours spent In Magilligan Camp before being transferred to Long Kesh in October 1977.\u00a0 Magilligan compounds had been opened as an alternative to the Maze in mid 1974 and at one stage there was 8 full cages-4 Republican and 4 Loyalist….2 UVF and 2 UDA\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

A Sunday in October.\u00a0<\/strong><\/em> The second or third.\u00a0 Doesn\u2019t matter which.\u00a0 Bright.\u00a0 But cold.\u00a0 And where we were-cold.\u00a0 Always cold.\u00a0 Coats were the order of the day in this neck of the woods.\u00a0 Sometimes you had to get dressed to go to bed.\u00a0 Summer- there was some improvement.\u00a0 A little.\u00a0 But generally cold.\u00a0 The wind blew like nobody\u2019s business.\u00a0 All year round.\u00a0 Occasionally a warmish wind, but a wind none the less. In the winter the gusts cutting through the wire at times sounded like a cabal of demented banshees.\u00a0 We crouched almost at forty degrees headlong into the gales when we walked the wire-hands stuffed in our pockets and talking \u2013loudly-out of the side of our mouths.
\nThere was thirty odd of us.\u00a0 The remains.\u00a0 The remnants.\u00a0 We didn\u2019t have much.\u00a0 Not to start with.\u00a0 And even less now.\u00a0 Our meagre possessions had been wrapped and tied and bundled and tagged and dispatched before us.\u00a0 We awaited the order.\u00a0 To move out.\u00a0 By mid morning we had overdosed on tea and coffee.\u00a0 The game of Continental\u2014the last on this turf\u2014was being played by five bored and coated souls-surrounded by a dozen spectators.\u00a0 Double deck piled before them.\u00a0 Small talk was done.\u00a0 Finished.\u00a0 Last night seen to that.\u00a0 There was an acceptance now.\u00a0 A stillness.\u00a0 A realisation that the point of no return had been crossed.\u00a0 A threshold.\u00a0 Of sorts.\u00a0 Each time the end door opened a collective swivel of heads-a craning of necks-an expectancy-to be dashed by the appearance of one of \u201cus\u201d.\u00a0 The odd one lay on top of the bed-waiting.\u00a0 A few still \u201c bouled\u201d the wire.\u00a0 Talking the inane talk of incarceration.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
\nThe door opens.\u00a0 A shout.\u00a0 That\u2019s us.\u00a0 The sound of vans engines running-more than one.\u00a0 Can\u2019t be for visits\u2014its Sunday don\u2019t forget.
\nFinish the hand is the order-the card players resume.\u00a0 There\u2019s nothing at stake.\u00a0 This time.\u00a0 But credibility.\u00a0 A win\u2019s a win.\u00a0 Everyone else drifts away from the table.\u00a0 Last minute stuff.\u00a0 Mental check lists.\u00a0 Psyche yourself up.
\nAn apprehensive looking P.O. appears and calls for our C.O.\u00a0 Joe is one of the card players.\u00a0 He doesn\u2019t answer. But studiously takes a card from the pile of dirt.\u00a0 Lays down a run to the ten-three sevens-three two\u2019s and his last card for the dirt saying-Count them ladies.
\nAs Joe heads towards the P.O. the other four Mavericks simultaneously throw their cards in the air.\u00a0 A last defiant, pseudo-rebellious gesture.\u00a0 We await the word from Big Joe.<\/p>\n

Right lads…he says on his return.\u00a0 It\u2019s alphabetical order\u2014form up in the canteen and wait to be called.
\nNo use me rushing then, I\u2019m well down the list-probably the third run.<\/p>\n

Time for another coffee.\u00a0 Most of our stuff has been forwarded on..we are only left with enough personal stuff to less than fill a brown paper bag.\u00a0 Hope it doesn\u2019t rain.
\nThe canteen has small groups standing about.\u00a0 Chatting-smoking-wondering-all in a rather muted fashion.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
\nAt the open doors stand a posse of screws-plenty of brass in amongst them.\u00a0 More than one has clipboards.\u00a0 An argument ensues.\u00a0 The P.O. wants us searched.\u00a0 Joe refuses.\u00a0 And threatens that we won\u2019t be<\/p>\n

A group of UVF prisoners in “H” compound 1975<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

going anywhere.\u00a0 The compound had been thoroughly searched the day before.\u00a0 A conflab.\u00a0 We wait.\u00a0 Resigned to\u2014whatever.
\nNo search..first eight names are called out by the P.O. and repeated by Joe.
\nBennett-Cardwell-Dempsey———
\n—–They troop off to board the mini bus.\u00a0 Outside the canteen the yard seems filled with screws.\u00a0 Like a search team waiting to pounce.
\nSome light hearted banter lifts the subdued atmosphere-somewhat.
\n\u201cGot your bucket and spade Ronnie\u201d?
\n\u201c Bring us back a rock, Lulu\u201d.
\nVery quickly it is my turn.\u00a0 I board the bus with a miserable brown bag as do seven others.\u00a0 Our names are checked \u2013Martin–McClean\u2014McClelland\u2014Niblock—leaving the canteen and again boarding the bus twenty yards away . They\u2019re taking no chances.
\nFrom H to the Army camp was a short drive-less than five minutes I\u2019m sure.\u00a0 The other cages blurred past..merging into the pages of the past already.
\nThere was an equal amount of screws on the bus as there was us.\u00a0 We were packed in and it was uncomfortable.\u00a0 Through the countless gates and into the unknown.\u00a0 None of us had seen this side of the fence before.\u00a0 It was a different world.\u00a0 The bus entered a shed..perhaps a garage.\u00a0 The tall double doors closed behind us.\u00a0 Suddenly the weak midday sunshine was blocked out and we were encased in complete blackness.\u00a0 The bus engine was turned off and the silence became perceptible.
\nIt was difficult to see anything.\u00a0 An odd cough or muttering was all that could be heard.\u00a0 Seconds later as I gradually adjusted to the darkness I could make out shadows-outlines of figures-I could feel the men on either side of me-one a screw but couldn\u2019t recognise them.
\nThe side panel of the van sliding across noisily invaded our silence.\u00a0 One by one we dismounted from the van.\u00a0 The screws on alighting all turned to the right-seemingly a pre-planned manoeuvre.\u00a0 By the time the last of our crowd had stepped down my vision had returned enough for to make out a semi-circle of British soldiers in firing stance each pointing an SLR in our general direction-no more than eight feet away.\u00a0 It was slightly disconcerting.\u00a0 Although there were overhead lights it was dark and gloomy.\u00a0 We remained silent.\u00a0 The noise of the big doors sliding open distracted us.\u00a0 Another-different noise assailed us..like an ever increasing wind-building fiercely in tempo-but unseen.
\nA P.O. emerged from the gloom.\u00a0 A different one from H.\u00a0 And indeed one I hadn\u2019t seen about much before.
\nHe carried an arm full of handcuffs.\u00a0 These he gave to the waiting screws before calling us forward one at a time to be shackled.\u00a0 In file we left the hangar each handcuffed by the left hand to a screw.\u00a0 Outside the hangar we were into the teeth of a hurricane and assailed by a deafening roar.\u00a0 We turned right and in front of us stood a Wessex helicopter-surrounded by armed soldiers-and with the side door open.
\nOnce on board we were met by another senior prison officer again carrying handcuffs.\u00a0 By the time he had went round us all we were either handcuffed by both arms to either a screw or fellow prisoner, or in my case to a screw and a steel post.\u00a0 All the Army personnel on board wore ear protectors.\u00a0 Prisoners and screws were exempt.
\nIt was useless trying to strike up a conversation such was the crescendo so we each leaned at various angles to see out the door which remained open for the entire journey.\u00a0 Almost as soon as we were airborne it became teeth chattering cold.\u00a0 Most of us had either light jackets or pullovers on and soon realised why the screws to a man wore overcoats.
\nThe journey was short-less than half an hour-and completed for the most part at low level.\u00a0 We could clearly see the traffic on the country roads-the sheep and cattle on the hillsides.\u00a0 When we came to Lough Neagh it was as if we were literally skimming across the surface of the water.\u00a0 The cold intensified.\u00a0 We longed for the journey to end.
\nIt did.\u00a0 Within moments the screw to my left nudged me and nodded towards the open door.\u00a0 There, framed in the doorway and looking just like an aerial photograph was Long Kesh camp-The Maze….Our destination.\u00a0 It quickly came to us and with a different pitch and rising of decibels our chopper hovered momentarily before touching down on a pad within the Army camp.
\nSoon we were processed and en route to our designated compounds-in my case 18.\u00a0 Whatever we had thought before coming to here or whatever plans we had worked out were simply ineffectual now.\u00a0 We had had our destiny \u2013at least in the short term\u2014worked out for us from on high.\u00a0 We had departed the Gulag on the Coast and arrived-without a fanfare-to the Academy—The Spence University–The Shankill Sandhurst-and life was about to change\u2014for each of us-but dramatically for some.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Beano<\/p>\n

<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Share\"\/<\/a>