Missing in Action (4 page)

By October, Platoon No. 6 had finished its basic training rotation and the recruits were ready for their assignments. Not surprisingly, Pat and John were earmarked for assignment to Fitzgerald Camp in Fermoy, with the then 1st Motor Squadron. The north Cork camp was Ireland’s inheritance of the vast British army base that had been built up there between 1800 and 1914. At its peak, the Fermoy-Kilworth military complex was second in size only to the Curragh Camp in Kildare. During the War of Independence the British even based Bristol and Martynside spotting aircraft at the base – earning it the nickname of ‘the Aerodrome’, which lasted for decades after the last British aircraft went home.

Pat and John were joined by six other recruits: Pat Crofton, Mick Casey, Jimmy Burke, John Murphy, Joe ‘Josie’ O’Grady and John Clifford, for an assignment that seemed more like an early Christmas present. (Josie O’Grady was an accomplished sportsman and went on to play League of Ireland football with Cork.) Pat and John knew that an assignment to Fermoy meant training either on armoured cars or motorcycles as dispatch riders – and being close enough to home to visit family and friends.

‘Fermoy was our dream assignment because we were close to home and because we’d be training on some of the most serious equipment the army possessed. A BSA, Triumph or Jawa motorcycle cost a full year’s wages for a working man – maybe more. And here we were being sent out to train on them – how to handle the bike at speed, how to cross a river without stalling and how to negotiate over fields and forest tracks. We had been ordered to report for training to Sgt Paddy Fraher who was a tough taskmaster but as nice a man as you could ask to serve under. We were having the time of our lives and being paid for it,’ John recalled.

Pat’s sister, Mary, had by now married and was living at Caher-drinna with her husband, Tom Kent, not far from Lynch Camp in Kilworth. With Pat and John on regular duties at the camp, it was inevitable that the Kent’s would become a ‘home from home’ for both young men.

‘The dispatch riders course took three months and we had both passed with flying colours by late February [1961]. It was around this time that we all began to realise that the Congo was more than likely going to be an overseas assignment for some of us. Eleven soldiers had been killed the previous November in the Niemba ambush and I think that shocked every single person in an Irish uniform as well as the entire country,’ John added.

With no immediate dates for a Congo deployment, the duo got on with being young men. Pat was a handy hurler and was immediately recruited by teams that played on the camp sports field in Fermoy. He quickly graduated to the cavalry senior team and, despite having just turned eighteen in November, was tough and wiry enough to hold his own on the field of play. On occasion, both Pat and John would be asked to ‘guest’ on some of the inter-firm teams that played GAA leagues in Mitchelstown on weekend mornings.

‘We’d seen Pat play in Kilbehenny, but I don’t think we realised just how good he was until we started seeing him on the army teams. He was quite young compared to the other soldiers but he was wiry, tough and had a great touch with a hurley,’ his brother Tom recalled. It wasn’t long before army and Fermoy sides were seeking the GAA services of the young Boherman.

The army commanders encouraged sport because it not only kept the men fit, but also served to promote the army as a career. The young troopers spent the rest of their social time trying to meet girls at local dances, going to the cinema and listening to albums of their favourite singers, usually Elvis Presley, Jim Reeves or Johnny Cash. A few went drinking but, even with the subsidised cost of pints in the army canteen, given his wages there was a limit to how much a young trooper could spend. For Pat and John, the lure of the cinema and dance halls was vastly greater than that of the pub.

‘In Fermoy, the Ormonde cinema was hugely popular. But Cork was the real attraction. That was where the real nightlife was and, I suppose, where the greatest number of girls was. Whenever we were based in the city we would go to the Gaylord dancehall or, if a good film was showing, to the Capitol, the Pavilion, the Palace or the Savoy. That’s where you went if you were taking a girl out and wanted to impress her. If it was just a night out with the lads, you’d go to the cheaper places like the Assembly Rooms or the Lido in Blackpool. They were a bit more downmarket than the other cinemas and you did occasionally run the risk of getting cigarette butts flicked at the back of your head from up in the gallery. But the Assembly Rooms and the Lido always had great westerns and war movies showing which was good enough for us,’ John explained.

Pat was a good singer and he became famed within his platoon for his more than capable versions of ‘Red River Valley’ and ‘Mona Lisa’, which he would sing on marches or in the army canteens. He particularly loved Jim Reeves and never needed an excuse to break into his favourite songs and ballads.

With the Congo increasingly dominating headlines in news-papers like the
Irish Independent
,
The Irish Press
and
The Cork Exa-miner
and seemingly omnipresent on RTÉ radio news bulletins, the feeling began to spread that another deployment to Africa was now inevitable. The only question was when would the troopers from Fitzgerald Camp be again asked to volunteer now that the 32nd and 33rd Battalions had finished their tours of duty and the 34th was about to rotate back to Ireland?

‘By the end of February, we were almost finished our dispatch riders course. We were in a large storage shed one day listening to an instructor when a sergeant arrived over with a clipboard and said he was looking for volunteers for a six-month tour of duty in the Congo. Pat and I couldn’t get over to him fast enough to volunteer and sign on,’ John said.

Interest in the Congo had rocketed since the deployment of the first Irish battalion – the 32nd – to the UN mission in July 1960. The euphoria and excitement over Ireland’s first overseas military mission had been tempered by the tragedy of the ambush at Niemba in November of that year, where nine Irish soldiers had been killed. Yet that hadn’t put young soldiers off the idea of serving in the Congo – in fact, the return of veterans of the 32nd and 33rd Battalions had whetted the appetites of serving soldiers back home who were determined to make it to the Congo before the UN mission ended.

The impact made by the Congo veterans on their return to Ireland shouldn’t be underestimated. Back in Fermoy, P.J. O’Leary was just eight years old and living on Barrack Hill when the first detachment of troops arrived back from Africa. He recalls being mesmerised by their tropical uniforms, suntans and nonchalant banter about the Congo and such exotic places as Stanleyville, Leopoldville, Kamina, Jadotville and Elisabethville. Overnight, the Congo veterans became local superstars.

‘I think I decided then and there that I wanted to join the Defence Forces. I think every youngster in the town was absolutely fascinated by the lads who had just returned from the Congo – we had never seen tropical uniforms before and everyone wanted to hear the stories about the jungle, the Balubas and Katanga. The lads whose fathers had served in the Congo were really proud of them and stories about Africa were all we wanted to hear about in the schoolyard. I can still recall how the troopers were dropped off at Fitzgerald Camp and marched down the town, all in tropical kit and each one in perfect step, as they headed to their homes. I think the Congo changed not only the army but Ireland itself,’ P.J. explained. The sight of the Congo veterans was sufficiently impressive to en-sure that just over a decade later, P.J. would himself join the army and proudly serve on repeated UN missions in Lebanon.

The youngsters weren’t the only ones inspired by the Congo veterans. Ultimately, almost sixty personnel volunteered at Fitzgerald Camp for overseas service – though it was expected that only twenty-five men would be required. Army commanders wanted a good cross-section of troops and they tried to weld experience with youth and various skill specialities. Because it was Ireland’s first major overseas deployment, only volunteers were being accepted, and strict medical and fitness standards were being insisted upon.

‘I think a lot of the younger soldiers were very gung-ho,’ John recalled. ‘Most of us had never even been to Dublin before let alone outside Ireland. Going to the Congo was viewed as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I remember a few younger soldiers excitedly talking about going to the Congo in front of Pat. He turned and said to them: “It is all right to go out but will we come back?” I still wonder to this day whether Pat had some kind of premonition about what was going to happen. But, like me, he was determined not to miss out on what we all thought was a great adventure. Despite the lesson of Niemba, none of us thought that anything would happen to us. I suppose like all young lads we thought we were bullet-proof.’

After three months of the rigorous training and selection process, the list of twenty-five Congo-bound troopers was pinned on the Fitzgerald Camp noticeboard. John was absolutely devastated to discover that he wasn’t among them.

‘Pat was chosen – and I wasn’t surprised by that because he was a great soldier, a natural trooper. If anyone was going to be selected for the Congo it was Pat. But I thought I would surely make the cut too. I couldn’t understand how I wasn’t chosen and, to be honest, it put me on a bit of a downer for a few weeks,’ John added.

It was a painfully awkward situation for Pat Mullins. On the one hand he was thrilled at the prospect of a Congo adventure and intensely proud that he had been selected from the gruelling selection process, but on the other hand he was devastated for his friend and the disappointment he felt. Then, one day, their prayers were answered when a revised selection list was pinned on the camp noticeboard.

‘I had been on guard duty for the night and had gone to a barrack room in a quiet part of the camp to try and get some sleep,’ John explained. ‘The next thing, Pat Mullins tore into the room and shook me awake. “John, you’re going to the Congo – you’re going to the Congo.
”
’

Waking with a start, John stared crossly at his friend and said: ‘What the hell is wrong with you, Pat? You know I’m not going.’

But Pat Mullins excitedly explained how six of the selected soldiers had just failed the medical assessment for the Congo – and six new names, including that of John O’Mahony, had been added to the Congo detachment list to join the now-forming 35th Irish Battalion.

The two friends tore out of the barrack room and ran to the noticeboard, where John danced an impromptu jig of delight when he saw his name on the deployment list. Just like two of the young characters in a Pavilion western or war movie, Pat and John were proudly heading off together in pursuit of adventure.

Newly promoted to a three star Trooper, Pat Mullins poses proudly in May 1961 at the 1st Motor Squadron’s base at Fitzgerald Camp in Fermoy. (Photo: John O’Mahony)

No 6 Platoon passing out Collins Barracks Nov 1960. Pat Mullins is 3rd from left in front row. (Photo J O’Mahony)