The Droppin Well bombing. December 6, 1982,

[bigal]

Hear hear.

Bean, you have written your experience of that awful night as you saw it and how it was for you. It is imprinted on your mind and it must be confusing, even conflicting, to read the words of others who might be relating things in the same way as you but from their viewpoint, but seemingly differing in detail or timings.
As for those who have become experienced at telling a story 'their way'...well, that is for them to live with.
I respect your being able to put it on here, it must have been difficult to write if, while writing, it served to bring pictures back as fresh as ever. But it's part of dealing, and that is a life-long process.
Sometimes it's hard to know how to respond to such a heartfelt account; so, like Jock said, don't be put off by the lack of response. Be assured that we are reading, and can understand how you feel.
Keep it coming mate, if it suits you to do so.

[On1on]

I have read Taffs account in Kens book and although I have a few disagreements, it is in the main the truth

It's people's memories Bean, I noticed several things that weren't quite right in Ken's first book because that's how people remember things in their own mind, over the years as I opened up to others they put me right on what I remembered, strange thing the mind... It also spurred me on to make my own small contributions to the books and no doubt somebody is sitting somewhere reading them thinking, "that's not how I remember it...". That's the great thing about sharing experiences and ensuring what we did isn't airbrushed out of history.

[Jock2413]

Believe it or not mate, you are doing the right thing putting it down on "paper" so to speak so's that others can read about it. All of us here are aware of what happened, but not in too much detail, so as well as getting it off your chest, it is also helping others understand how things were that night. There have been others who have written about that tragedy, but as you know, people see things through there own eyes so there are bound to be differences. It's a human thing.
Don't be put off if you find that not many members are commenting on what you have written. It is not lack of interest I can assure you, but the fact that they would feel ill-equipped to comment on something like this. But I can assure you that everyone is reading it.

Here I am to bug you again....

Okay, so we got out of it.

I suppose we were near the front of the building beside the steps and could have run away like the cowards who bombed the place, and used an excuse (and probably a legitimate one)....but out we stepped into the quietest place on earth that night. There were only as far as I know, about 20 people who got out before me and by now one guy as I described before had actually taken charge as a young man of about 23 or 24 and probably a Cpl or "should have been".

There was nothing. Stillness and calm is the only way that I can describe the aftermath.

I have read Taffs account in Kens book and although I have a few disagreements, it is in the main the truth.....but it took a while for the support to arrive.

I would love for anyone there that night to get in touch and make the 30th anniversary something special....in the well with all our families!

Bean.

Guys I will sort out the rest once my head gets better. I`m just struggling at the moment to process information in the way I would like to pass it on and will NOT sell my comrades and civilian friends who died short, hope you understand. I have to be completely clear, and that might be a bit of a problem...I have got to the bit I dont actually want to remember and have actively suppressed for all these years. It really feckin hurts and I have tears in my eyes, but I dont want to spout melodramatic sh1t as it would sully the memory of those who cant reply and that would be worse. I know I am not the only one to have this problem and thank you all for your words, but the only person who can tell it is me and I ask you for a wee bit of patience...how can this hit me like a ton of bricks after 29 years? I have honestly been ok for such a long time, maybe I`m just going mad.

This is my edit and I am truly sorry for not being able to finish it all at the same time, but as some of you know, if it has been dormant and not even my wife of 27 years (married you buggers not age! although we can all dream.) knows the detail then it was well deep. I apologise in advance for any "inappropriateness" in my post, but I am for the first time in 29 years in the "same place" at the moment and couldn`t really care too much.

Outside, having had 1 pint of the DWs finest English lager and some mince and tatties, I had never felt so ****ed in my life. Maybe it was something to do with the Bang, Blast, Bogs and a fair helping of smack to the head, but I didn`t really have much of a clue what was going on as the last I can remember is the guys trying to kick "Sweaty" out through the hole....I am not proud to admit, but I was glad she rushed to the front as I only had thoughts of a secondary attack and could picture an IRA LMG/GPMG set up for the escape route (I know it was the INLA, but a bomb is after all a bomb).

There was a soldier who was there and trying his best to sort the sh1t out, I think he may have been Cheshire Regt, and had obviously been in the bomb but a big measure of respect to him who shouted "For Fecks sake, you are supposed to be fecking soldiers, this is what we are trained for so get your b4stard arses back in there and get those poor feckers out!"....apart from the fact that I had never actually been trained to complete a "human jigsaw" I automatically went back in (must be the training) and started picking up "bits"......this may I add, is long before the QRF or Bob Stewart ever managed to get out of their pits despite their protestations!

I know that timelines are for geeks and maybe I am so, but when I read about Bob Stewarts personal account (which can be found at http://www.londonderrysentinel.co.uk...city_1_2102129) I ask how he could comment when he got there at least 45 mins later, or is he using it to political effect?.....I will ramble some more later....

I firmly believe that not one of us who served in Northern Ireland, and survived, did not come home unaffected by what we experienced, some a great deal more than others.
Reading Beans account has deeply moved me, and has taken my thoughts back to those terrible times. Many people use these forums to 'offload', and that's precisely the reason that its here. Not one of us is getting any younger, and as the passage of time takes it's toll on those we knew, then it makes it more important to stick together. I have said this before, but all those years ago, we watched each others backs, and we still do that today.

.........bloody well said mate........

[Jock2413]

It's nothing unusual mate. I remember after a nasty contact in Belfast. None of us were hurt but when I looked at one of my lads, his eyes were the size of saucers. I just creased up with laughter and within a few seconds, all of us were in stitches for about 2 minutes. Laughter is a good tension releaser.
Keep up with you story mate because telling it to others who know where you are coming from is also a great help. I know this from experience.

Continued....

In the immediate aftermath of the bomb going off, and having found my best mate cursing about the lack of beer on the upturned and demolished table (despite the fact that he was lying on his ar$e at the time amongst cables, wires and debris). The rail saved his life, whereas the blast had saved mine. The roof had dropped and was supported by a flimsy bit of 1/4 inch steel made into a pretty, but entirely ornamental seperator between the drinking zone and the dance floor, fabricated no doubt by the finest craftsmen that Belfast had to offer since the titanic!

As we later found out due to the miracles of modern forensic science, the bomb was placed at the table next to us....for those of you who were there, we were almost in the middle of the room. The blast had, and I swear that I saw it do this, moved along the wall and taken out the DJ and his kit causing a massive yellow "blast like" flame just as, correct me if Im wrong, but I dont think I am, "Mad World" was on the decks, and was on its way to the other end when I came to in the room of pink.

Anyway, I dye grass...the key to getting out is always to find an escape, which to the uninitiated, might seem obvious but they had probably never come across "sweaty Betty"...(I apologise in advance if one of you guys out there married her!). This lady was big, and as ever competitive, so when she saw the gap it was like a race to the front of a McDonalds queue, and believe it or not, whilst people were dying around us that night we laughed again...when she got stuck! I think there were one or two of the Cheshire guys with boots on her ar$e last time I saw her, because after all, it was our only way out at that time....I will buy those blokes a beer if ever we meet, true heroes.

I did warn you it wasnt all bad and morose, but I tell it how I remember it.......TBC

I firmly believe that not one of us who served in Northern Ireland, and survived, did not come home unaffected by what we experienced, some a great deal more than others.
Reading Beans account has deeply moved me, and has taken my thoughts back to those terrible times. Many people use these forums to 'offload', and that's precisely the reason that its here. Not one of us is getting any younger, and as the passage of time takes it's toll on those we knew, then it makes it more important to stick together. I have said this before, but all those years ago, we watched each others backs, and we still do that today.

Without doubt!

[REMEphil]

And mine; and probably quite a few more.

[Jock2413]

Keep it going mate. You've got my attention.

Where do I start?....

First of all, thanks for the support. I had hoped at some time I could get together with some of the others who experienced that night at first hand all those years ago and hopefully I will be able to meet up someday although if I were to ever revisit the site of my nightmares I would need to bring my wife and family as they have only ever heard little bits of the tale over the years and cant fathom the horror of what confronted us all at such a young age and stays with us every day for the rest of our lives.

I suppose as you get older you tend to think of your past more and things you put to the back of your mind come reaching up from the depths and smash you like a sledgehammer square in the face, this is where I am at the moment!

Until I read the other day about Cilla dying at the age of 35, I didnt really let the bombing get to me, and having read the accounts on this thread from you guys who have been back and helped others to go back, I really didnt think too much about going back, but I know I must even if it is just to stand there and cry and make a fool of myself and say sorry to all those who didnt make it out because maybe if I could have tried harder or did something different they might have got to the ambulance quicker and something could have been done, I know its irrational to think like that, but as I am sure you all know, could have? should have? would have? are the questions that run through all of our minds from time to time.

I will post an account of the evening from my perspective at a later time, but for now I am trying to remember names, who was there and suchlike, I do remember when I got back to camp when the police told us to go as we had done everything we could (and I cant remember the walk back!) there was a team of lads at the front gate to meet the stragglers. At this time I didnt realise that I had split my head open from top to bottom as I couldnt see the back of my jacket and didnt even twig that I was saturated in the blood of others (I do mean saturated) from my face to my knees.

A guy who I would like to thank was an armourer there by the name of Mel Mortimer who took me to the med centre and from there I was casevac`d to Musgrave Park by Lynx (there is a bit of a twist to that but I will tell you all as the story when I write it unfolds).

Anyway, if anyone knows of Mel, send him my regards whilst I write down in words my tale from top to bottom.....thanks again guys for your time and thoughts.

Having discovered that I can edit the post, I will just do that until someone asks me not to do it as they are losing the gist of the thread, let me start with a little bit of background both family and upbringing before I get to that day, if it gets boring then just let me know and I will expedite the sh1t and get to the point, but this isnt about just one night. I have kept my nickname on this forum as it is what I have always been called and I do not wish to hide away behind the cloak of anonymity any longer. As I now approach my 50th in a few years, I would like to have the chance to get it all out in the open and discuss some good and awful things I have done throughout so that I can at least salve my soul and believe within myself that it is maybe time for me to get over it. So if you know Bean or you knew Bean then it is I.

1960s, 1970s......Catholic family upbringing in the West of Scotland (imagine Belfast without the guns), council flat, no car, no money and no hope but my family had the catholic faith and alcohol to see them through. At that time the resemblance as some of you will know was not that far removed from Belfast and the major towns of the "Province" (or the "6 Counties" of a divided Ireland that I was brought up to swear that one day I would free them from British tyrranical rule).
Home life at the weekends consisted of the old Scottish West coast tradition handed down over generations which in the main meant Friday nights pay packet or Thursday afternoons "Broo money" was to be blown on copious amounts of Whisky, Pale Ale and McEwans Export in the days before ring-pulls and half measures, so as you can imagine after that sort of night the "adults" were prone to a song or two and, without realising or subscribing to it, I was indoctrinated into the world of Irish Republicanism through osmosis. I make no apologies, as that was the world I lived in and the priest even used to visit on a weekly basis to take money from my parents who had just about enough to survive on, but take it he did offering his platitudes, drinking tea and group prayer after that we would just have to make do that night with chip sandwiches whilst my father plugged in the music centre and we all sat around newly energised by the "visitation" and sang republican songs till bedtime.
As a special surprise, my fathers Auntie Jean and Uncle Patrick visited us from Canada once and we were spoiled rotten by the affection of these two "successful" people who left the old country behind for a life beyond this squallor and us kids just loved it and never had I met a pair of more generous souls in my short life. They would lavish us with gifts, money (which would quickly "be put away" by my parents for safekeeping)....as an aside, the week after the Droppin Well, I found out that Auntie Jean was the head of NORAID fundraising in Ontario and she was horrified that I should have been in a pub with British traitors to the Irish cause, but on the flip...my dad smashed all his republican LPs. Never did speak to the old Crone before she went to hell.....but that was still to be in the future.

Right enough of all the back-filling and getting to the point as its not an autobiography and I dont wish to detract from the subject matter for too long but I felt it was important to tell you my familial history before I continued, crazy and mixed up like most of us who have a dark secret coming out in public for the first time as it were!

We all inherently dislike those who are not ours.......

Be it (as I was) REME, ACC,AAC, RAOC, Inf ad infinitum........and most of all civvies!.....but my mistrust of civvies went a little bit further....I was neither the protector nor the aggressor to them and couldnt tell them I was catholic, so for me, the religious aspect and my background made it hard for me to mix other than with my non denominational mates or civvies who really couldnt care less, and by far guys, I got the better deal.....I loved so many people that night who were from all sides of the divide and it ripped my heart out for a good few years afterwards........so Religion, Go FCUK yourself!

Why do I say that when so many of you might disagree? I will come on to that later. What I am about to write is not all doom and gloom and morose rambling from an old who has nothing better to do than just sit at a computer and reminisce about the good old bad old days. Far from it, on that night in particular there are things that happened that still make me smile or even laugh out loud at, there are things I saw young men and women do which keep me sane and I am sure that they all feel the same about each other but they are bittersweet memories which have kept me lighthearted for all these years. I saw with my own eyes boys and girls become immortal men and women that night, immortal insofar as they never leave my mind!....to you ladies and gentlemen, for thats what you earned the right to be called, I doff my cap, tug my forelocks and salute you every 6th of December, as I know that what is on your mind that day isnt about getting the kids to school, making it a good day at the office or any of the other things we might have to do for 364 days of the year...this is OUR day, nobody can take that from us, we have a right to a few moments to ourselves to remember our friends.

I didnt meet my wife until the June following the bombing and she didnt know too much about it other than she remembered something that was on the news ages ago.
Her best friend (who I incidentally fancied the pants off! Do you see a pattern here?) introduced me as "Paul...He was in the Ballykelly bombing" and luckily for me she said "and?" (which instantly gave me the shivers, because here was one that DIDNT know) at which her friend was gutted that she could no longer bask in my celebrity left us alone to go and pester some other poor unfortunate....that was the best night of my life, and I still recount how we met even to the kids who are all grown up now, that brings a smile to my face.

Can you forgive me for not wanting my life to be ruled and fashioned by what happened that night?.....Thats why we are still together and happier than ever!

Around the September or October 1982, Private Paul Delaney pitched up in the transit accommodation at Shackleton Barracks as a shiney new slop jockey full of the wonderment and expectation, and excitement of any young SOLDIER, I capitalised that because it reinforces the fact that regardless of any divisions, we all are the same, we all joined the army and but for the grace of there being no places left at the catering college, I might not have found myself in REME as an aircraft artificer after 12 yrs and then achieving WO1 Pilot on helicopters. Paul was a lovely friendly lad who without being critical, was a 17 yr old with the naiveity that only an 18 yr old such as my friend H and I could exploit, I must add for humour only and he was an integral part of our group, but remember that by this time we were "old hands"....I had been there for at least 3 months and knew it all. Paul was not allowed out for the first month or so because he was 17 and the regulations stated that no "minor" would be allowed out, he didnt get the pi55 ripped for that one by us "vets" honest.

As things progressed as they do and somehow it feels that a lifetime can happen in a short space of time in some places, and as he was good friends with Terry we would all say hello or swap beers etc....nevertheless, whether I would have been friends with them today had they been alive, I dont honestly know cos I have lost touch with many over the years, but the chance to remain in contact for life was taken away that night, I suppose you could say we remained lifelong friends regardless.

Right ....

Finished work in the 655 hangar at around 2130.
Block 303 showered and changed by 2230....as I remember you had to be in the "well" by 2300 or no entry.
H and I signed out through 655 ops room (this meant that we didnt have to book in and out through the cheshires guardroom).
got to the Droppin Well at about 2245 (or thereabouts, depending on whether you were pi5hed on the walk up there or not)
Paid the entry fee to the really really young guy and I think it was Tanya (correct me if I am wrong) at the door.
I bought a round from none other than Pat as I wasnt going to be served by anyone else!
I must mention that on a Monday night....your entry covered a free meal and that night it was mince and potatoes or something like that, I made sure that the only person serving us that night was Patricia Cooke with her dark green eyes, irish brogue, and flowing dark locks, like a goddess....(remember, I was only 18, but she was and still is in my mind).
Finished pint, had a chat with Paul whilst we were eating, said we would join him and terry with the guys they were with after we had finished.

H got another pint, Pat cleared the table at around 2313, I laid my fags down and never saw them again.....my fags and the pint that is, you all know I saw Pat and Im still in touch with H...but in the midst of the confusion when I came to, it was a completely different world....

I was staring at a sea of pink....it was surreal, and bright, unlike the darkness behind it...turned out to be the flames from the many little fires making the girls "shitters" a bit more like heaven than anything....I do not apologise for the next statement, but I describe it to my family as "I invented hole in the wall, I saw the outline of my body in a hole sized portion of plasterboard", that must have hurt.....NO IT DIDNT!

Anyway even at such a time, I couldnt hang around the girls toilets for too long and think I may have been out for a few mins, but found my way to the edge of the rail at the edge of the dancefloor where many of you must have sat in your time? where I found H cursing cos he`d just (in his words)" grabbed a feckin spikey electric barstd of a feckin cable"....so I asked him not to touch anymore. Now you might feel that at this time we would be well gutted that we had been bombed, but here we were inside the deathtrap that was falling masonry and if god strikes me down we were laughing...we are alive kind of laughing rather than that mad kind of laughing that mental people do on films.....but laughing we were and even had time whilst trapped inside to complain about missing fags and spilled pints and FFS dont touch the wires cos they sting you. Tiny little fires were in abundance, there was a lot of peace and calm, nobody was histerical....dont touch the wires was the call (H said to me later...Too feckin late to shout that I had already had a buzz when I asked why he didnt shout it he just laughed and said bollocks I should have sorry!").

I must really emphasise that the whole incident was calm....frustratingly so, inside we were trying to get out, when you got out you were trying to get back in...H and I looked at each other when we got out and said "WTF do we do now"...bear in mind we were 18 years old, but we were soldiers....we didnt answer the question we just started shifting bodies.....TBC


Bean.

[spanner]

G'day Bean, excuse the pun, Bean there done that, I survived a bomb attack in '71 in Belfast, My mate Gnr Paul Jacko Jckson was killed by a bomb in londonderry 28/11/72 when out with the bomb squad, i had been out with the same three felix blokes just a few days before and nothing happened to me that day. It is only since coming to this site a few years ago that I learned to cope better with my survivor guilt. Stick with it mate, every day i awake to the sound of the birds in my garden is a bonus day.
At the risk of boring those who already heard it, I have had two lots of brain surgery in 2005 to deal with problems caused by scar tissue on my brain from the bomb in 71. Why we live and others die is a mystery to me, it just IS.