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The
25th of September is an important date in the republican
calendar. Twenty years ago today the IRA in the H-Blocks
achieved the impossible and executed the most daring
and audacious escape in what sections of the media
were wont to term 'British penal history.' The action
was easier to liken to the aplomb, zest and panache
characteristic of operations mounted by the Tupamaros
of Uruguay than to the 'rope over the wall' escapades
that Europeans have been famed for. And although there
have been some great European escapers, such as the
French gangster Mesrine whose life and times were
captured in a biography by Carey Schofield, no matter
what status their exploits have attained in the annals
of escapology none have managed to acquit themselves
with as much sophistication as Bobby Storey, Bik McFarlane
and their entourage did two decades ago. At 7:06pm
this evening I travelled by the now defunct jail after
having spent the day in the company of a former prisoner
who was, like myself, on the wrong side of its walls
and in the wrong block when the escape took place.
Thrown together by our confinement, its very antithesis,
freedom, had not yet managed to dissolve the bonds
of friendship forged in the concrete corridors of
one her majesty's darker corners.
Tonight
the grassy area external to the jail seemed calm,
undisturbed by the rustling of ghosts from twenty
years past. Then the terrain must have been awash
with armed and uniformed state goondas mounting roadblocks
and scrutinising the faces of drivers and passengers
alike, vainly attempting to ensure that the numbers
at HMP Maze were 'all present and correct sir', just
as they had been at breakfast time. In republican
areas the graffiti wits took to the walls with typical
bite: 'H-Block 7 - open all day Sunday' was how one
wall read. Elsewhere the British radio satirical,
Weekending, the following Friday night, mercilessly
mocked the prison governor, advising him to leave
the key where the prisoners could find it before he
locked up and went home - it would save a lot of bother,
fighting and hijacking of the prison food lorry. During
the blanket protest the lorry was called the 'happy
wagon', always greeted by the cheers from the 'NCPs'
- non conforming prisoners - when it trundled into
the yard with its promise to break the monotony of
the day. Now it was leaving with the happiest contents
ever to occupy its interior. One prison officer, Jimmy
Ferris, died during the escape. Few remembered him
until the 'ourselves alone live here' unionists seized
on his death and made a barricade out of his memory
merely to engage in a spot of shroud waving and draw
attention from the Letterkenny party to the poopers.
It failed - Jeffrey Donaldson is hardly the type that
draws much attention within any party - even his own.
In
the immediate wake of the escape the prison staff
did what they do best. Chris Ryder in his book, Inside
The Maze, described it as ‘one of the most
shameful episodes of Northern Ireland prison history.’
Guards brutally set about those prisoners who did
not flee H7. Many were beaten and some fell victims
to the canine appetite of Alsatian dogs. Those escapees
who were immediately recaptured were ferociously beaten.
And not one screw ever faced court proceedings as
a result.
In
H1, while there was a lock up we avoided the worst
of it. One screw punched an isolated Liam Ferguson,
who retaliated with a well-directed fist of his own.
The screws at the top of the wing moved to gang up
on Liam but were persuaded otherwise by an enraged
Martin Meehan violently rattling the canteen grills
and warning them of the consequences if they attacked
'Fergy'. They knew they would not have us locked up
forever and wisely desisted. Fergy laughed his way
to the boards where three days was unlikely to break
him. Meanwhile, 19 of his comrades were over the hills
and far away.
Those
who failed to make it outside the security cordon
returned to face years of being transferred from block
to block once every few weeks in an administration
bid to disrupt escape plans. But all prison management
achieved was to add cohesion to IRA command and control
structures within the jail. Republican prisoner practices
and procedures were integrated and compared all the
easier to other blocks due to administration assisted
continuous feedback. Accordingly, adjustments could
then be made. Our daily existence became more structured
and routinised. Life in one block became much the
same as life in any other. If we did not always know
what to expect we knew how to respond. Resistance
culture in the prison became more standardised. Yet
everywhere there existed the subcurrent, where dope
was smoked and booze was brewed - transgressions in
the view of both official and unofficial jail management.
On occasion it is hard to take some Sinn Fein spokespersons
serious when they appear Armani attired and po-faced
in public to tell us of something 'crucial and unprecedented.'
Our memories of them recall them sitting stoned in
a cell with a joint hanging from their lips - and
dressed just like the rest of us.
In
those days it was our duty to escape and return to
the struggle. New middle leadership was required which
would add real impetus to attempts to take the war
to a higher plane. Flying columns could establish
liberated areas. We would control the ground and deny
the British access to the skies. Some of those who
escaped later died fighting. Three lost their lives
in battle against the British SAS. Escape was an imperative
- if we didn't up the ante the British would be free
to secure their objective - an internal solution taking
the institutional form of power sharing and cross
border bodies - and our struggle would be defeated.
Ultimately, in spite of the success and ingenuity
of the escapers, nothing came out of the jail that
could stave off that outcome. Instead, twenty years
on, many are happy to wave the wooden spoon. And there
are, unfortunately, more than a few human Alsatians
ready to eat alive anyone suggesting an escape from
Stormont.
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