Ireland, love and hate in Belfast

The Green Velvet Gown.
By Michael P Lynch.

The explosion could be heard as far away as the Shanklin road. Within
minutes the emergency services were on their way to the scene of the
bombing. Just another day in the life of the people of Belfast, they
were accustomed to the troubles by now, they should be after 25 years.
Soon a Company of the 2nd Para's was dispatched to the scene.
At the scene of the bombing People were milling around, some in shock,
some in pain from the flying debris; others were there through
inquisitiveness.
The young man standing across the street was just another observer. Or
so many thought.
"That'll teach you &;#8230;&;#8230;&;#8230; you British
bastards". He muttered to himself. "Especially you Michael".
The bomb had been planted outside the off duty premises of the security
forces, just when it was at its busiest time. Nine-o clock in the
evening was a good time.
Struggling through the pile of rubble, hindered by the thick smoke. The
smell of burning wood and the acrid fumes of melting plastic assailed
their senses. The rescue team made slow progress. Bodies were scattered
all about the building, or what remained of it.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, whoever is responsible for this should never
rest at nights". The Fire chief uttered.
"Chief, where the fuck do we start, I haven't seen so much carnage,
look, over there?" Came from one of the rescuers.
The Fire Chief looked in the direction where the man was pointing he
could barely see what he was looking at then he saw the body, or part
of it. What he saw was the dress. It looked as though at one time it
had been green velvet. Now the dress was filthy and torn. Her bare
shapely legs covered in blood. The reason why he could only see part of
the girl's body was because it was partially covered by the body of a
young soldier. He appeared to be trying to protect her.
"Chief, over here, there are more girls". The shout came from another
rescuer.
"Jesus, who the fuck is responsible for this?" The Chief wiped his
grimy brow as he looked at the broken young bodies..
The smell of smoke and melting plastic made him feel nauseous. Over in
the corner a young fireman threw up.

The street was now a hive of activity, the security forces had cordoned
off the street and the police were gathering statements from witnesses.
Paramedics were treating those in shock and there was a constant coming
and going of ambulances. According to the Officer in charge there were
no survivors in the building. It was getting darker; the movements of
the younger club and pubgoers now hampered the activities of the
emergency services.

Dermot Corrigan stood watching the carnage from a distance; deep in his
thoughts were the images of mangled bodies. But most of all the thought
of the death of one man in particular.

"The Man will be pleased with my nights work, shouldn't be surprised
if I get promotion". He said to himself.
Dermot had been a serving member of an active service unit of the Irish
Republican Army for several years. He hadn't had a very good start in
life. Leaving school early without any educational qualifications
didn't make life easy for him. Since then he had been in and out of
trouble with the Police, and with no chance of getting any work he had
joined the political wing of the IRA. Attending demonstrations and
conferences he had picked up many mixed messages about the political
situation. It didn't take much for him to join the active service unit
of the Provisional IRA also known as the Provo's, and get involved in
the fighting.
Dermot also had an older brother, he had left Northern Ireland and gone
over to the Mainland and enlisted in the forces. He had never got on
with Michael, and was glad when he left. This left him to get to know
Rosainne better. "Ah sweet Rosainne". His eyes glazed over when he
thought of her. She had been Michael's girlfriend since
schooldays.
Dermot was thinking all of this when suddenly his attention was drawn
to the other side of the street. He made his way closer, just as they
were bringing some bodies out. Stepping over water hoses and other
equipment he got closer.
A green dress or what was left of it swam before his eyes.
"Oh my god". He gasped.
He got closer and saw the bloodied figure of Rosainne. "Oh my god
Rosainne what have I done?"
Then he saw the other body; it was clothed in combat gear. As the
stretcher was being put in the ambulance an Officer was taking notes
and collecting dog tags.
"Corporal Michael Corrigan, 23923234". He shouted to the other
Officer.
"God, I knew this man, he was in my training squad back home".
Dermot just stared; the realisation of what he had done suddenly
reached him. He looked over in the direction of the ambulance and saw
the body of Rosainne and his brother being taken away. He watched as
more young female bodies were carried out.
"Well Michael me boyo you treacherous bastard now try taking Rosainne
from me". Dermot muttered, half laughing, half crying.
The episode between Dermot and his brother had really come to a head a
few weeks ago. Michael had been away in England for the last two years.
This gave Dermot time to get to know Rosainne better. He considered
themselves an item, Rosainne had other ideas.
For one thing she didn't like the idea of what Dermot was up to or his
ideals. She wasn't a girl given to politics or military situations. To
look at she was quite pretty, average height, nice figure; she had long
brown hair and carried herself proudly. Dermot on the other hand was
the opposite. He had a slyness about him that overcame all his other
characteristics. Different to Michael in many ways, he was scrawny and
not very well dressed. He also had a bad skin problem; this had led to
lots of mockery and bullying at school. So for this reason Rosainne
didn't feel attracted to him. She accepted him as a friend because of
her relationship with his brother.
Two weeks ago Michael had returned to Belfast, with a company of
Para's. His feelings for the problems were one sided, first and
foremost he was a Para with a duty to undertake, and undertake it he
would. He didn't know about his brother's involvement with the Provo's
or of his animosity towards him.
A dark night and the squad patrolled the damp streets, Michael was
bringing up the rear, they were doing a house to house search.
"Piss off you British bastards and leave us alone, there are no weapons
in here". Screamed a female voice.
As usual the pistols were hidden under the cot mattress. Further on as
Mike rounded a corner SA80 at the ready, he saw the shape of a young
girl in the shadows. As he got closer he recognised her. "Rosainne". He
said in hushed tones.
She peered through the darkness to see who was talking.
"Michael, is that yourself?, oh Jesus it is". She didn't want to be
seen talking to a squaddie so she looked the other way.
"What the devil are you doing here Michael Corrigan; these are your
people you are harassing".
"Shhhhh". He whispered. "I'll contact you later". And then suddenly he
was gone.
The Patrol was a success they made several arrests. Back at the
headquarters Michael was just about to go off duty when he saw one of
the prisoners.
"Dermot, is it you?". He said hurriedly.
Dermot looked Michael up and down and spat at him. "Well, well, if it
isn't my big brother; are you pleased to see me Michael?".
"So you decided to throw your hand in with a bunch of murdering
terrorist bastards". Mike said vehemently.
"Not terrorists Michael, we are the army of a republican Ireland; and I
am proud to be a part of it". He sat slouched on a bench looking
nothing like a proud soldier.
Michael approached him. "How's Rosainne, its ages since I last saw her;
what is she doing with herself?". He handed Dermot a packet of
cigarettes.
"I'll take the fags Michael, but it doesn't mean a thing; I'm just
dying for a smoke". He lit one and blew the smoke in Michael's
face.
"Michael, you keep the fuck away from Rosainne, we are an item
now".
What he didn't tell his brother was, Rosainne was more interested in
her dancing. She had always been a good dancer and now she was in an
Irish dancing team she had little time for anyone.
Looking down at Dermot, Michael saw only a weak scrawny person, nothing
for him to be afraid of there.
"OK so you have chosen the way of the gun; but why?".
"It's a long story big brother and I don't think you would be
interested".
Just then the interrogation team arrived and took Dermot away. As it
happened they didn't have any evidence to keep Dermot so they let him
go. The last Michael saw of him was when he was leaving the security
post. Dermot had looked back and made a gesture with his finger as if
he was shooting him.
Several days passed and Michael got on with his duties, not letting his
family ties interrupt him. He didn't even bother to see Rosainne. He
knew how the Provo's treated women they suspected of fraternising with
the Brits.
Dermot, due to his success at several minor hits had been called into
Provo headquarters and been given the mission to destroy the recreation
area used by the security forces. He put himself wholeheartedly into
the task ahead. He had seen Michael several times but no words passed
between them.
As it was getting near to St Patrick's day the Para's decided to
organise a night's entertainment. After ringing round they hired an
Irish Dancing troupe. Michael was surprised when some of the girls came
round to organise the night. Rosainne was one of them. Not wanting to
be outwardly friendly in front of his officers, he waited till later to
see her. They met as she was leaving.
Michael stepped out of a doorway. "Rosainne, I have missed you so much,
but I had to get away from all this mess".
Rosainne looked deeply into his eyes and spoke. "Michael why did you
choose the other side?, you could have got an ordinary job; but you had
to go the way of the gun". "There's little difference between you and
Dermot except when you kill it is legal". "Now Michael you have to
promise me you wont try to see me again".
Michael looked stunned. 'Why, Rosainne, why, what have I done that ever
hurt you".
She looked at him with pitying eyes. "Don't you know Michael? we are on
opposite sides now". She squeezed Michael's hand slightly and then
left.
St Patrick's Day arrived, Dermot had stolen a car and filled it with
explosives and set a timing device; he figured that the place would be
full around nine o clock. He set the device to explode at nine. As he
walked away he never saw the bus arrive with the girls dance
troupe.
Inside the place was bustling there were lads from various regiments,
but mostly it was the Para's. Michael was standing at the bar having
his favourite, a pint of Guinness. The girls were getting ready for
their show. The lads were laughing and joking. First on the stage was a
ceilei band, they performed some well known numbers. The stage wasn't
large enough for the dance troupe so they danced in a space cleared for
them. Michael watched as Rosainne and her troupe went through their
paces. She and the rest of the troupe were dressed in green velvet
dresses with a gold sash. They were all young and quite pretty. They
smiled at the lads as they kicked and backstepped. The way the lads
were cheering them on you would have thought they were doing a
strip.
Outside it was dark; the streets were crowded, further up the street
Dermot stood in a doorway. He looked at his watch.
"Only another few minutes and you Brit bastards will be in hell".
The explosion came as a surprise to even Dermot, he didn't realise he
had used too much explosive.
The girls were just about to start another dance when the wall caved
in. Glass shards flew in all directions. The explosion was deafening.
All Michael could see was debris falling on his mates some who had been
stood close to the wall had been blown into bits. Most of the dance
troupe lay amidst the debris either dead or dying. Carnage was all
around. He looked towards Rosainne, she was staggering around, blood
spattered and dazed. Above her a piece of the ceiling support was
working loose. Michael tried to shout to warn her but she didn't reply.
He sprang over to where she stood and tried to push her away. Too late
the roof fell onto them just as Michael covered her with his body.
Before he died he muttered.
"Oh my god Rosainne I love you" Rosainne died seconds later.
Several weeks passed and little sympathy went out to the Para's. The
Irish people had long memories and the bloody Sunday attack on the
Bogside was still fresh in their memories. As for the dancers the
Provo's declared them to be traitors to their cause.
A dark side street some three days later, Dermot stood over his victim
and fired two shots into him. He then kicked the dying man over onto
his face and walked off. Hours later he was having a drink in one of
the supposedly safe pubs. Already he was pinpointing his next
victim.
"All traitors of Ireland and its cause should meet the same fate". He
muttered to no one in particular.
"Talkin' to yourself again are you Dermot?" The barman came over to him
and poured him another shot of whisky. "It'll get you into trouble one
day, you never know who is listening".
The door suddenly shattered into fragments. The unmistakable sounds of
Hechler - Koch's shattered the silence. A raiding party of SAS was on
the take.
"Go, go, go", shouted someone, "Dermot Corrigan", the voice came
through the doorway, "don't move an inch or you'll get your fuckin'
head blown off".
Dermot was still deep in thought and his reactions were slow.
"Sorry me boyos it isn't going to be that easy". He dived for cover
behind the bar and returned their fire. "Come on bastards try your
damnedest". He hadn't reckoned against coming into contact with the
SAS. Several exchanges of fire later and Dermot lay wounded. His only
thoughts were the SAS were going to take him in.
"Not on your life boy's, I would never last in your hands', he shouted,
holding the pistol to his head he shouted. "No surrender". And fired.
The SAS men found him lying in a pool of blood, one side of his blown
away. One of them kicked his body with his boot and muttered.
"Shit, is this heap of crap the great Dermot Corrigan".