State Violence (16 page)

It was quite late when we arrived at Durham. Luckily, our hotel, the Royal County, Old Elvet, was near the Women's Prison. In the morning we said Mass at St Cuthbert's and walked to the prison where we were scheduled to begin our visits at 9.30am. The authorities in all the prisons accommodated us in every way and were most courteous. The cardinal brought gifts of chocolate and cigarettes to each prison he visited

Durham is an old prison. I think I remember an officer saying that they were about to spend a million pounds in urgent repairs. I was surprised how cramped and small the wing was where we were to meet the girls, having been used to the space of the wings in Armagh Prison. Here we met Martina Anderson, Ella O'Dwyer, Judith Ward and Martina Shanahan. For me it was a reunion with Martina Anderson and Ella O'Dwyer. Martina had spent a month in Armagh Prison at one time and I had visited them both when they were in Brixton. Our visit was held in the tiny chapel. Judith Ward brought us tea and cakes. She was in ebullient form and very proud to act as hostess. Martina Shanahan of the Winchester Three was tearful and very apprehensive of her coming appeal. The cardinal was very versed in the case and comforted her a lot pointing out all the weaknesses in the prosecution evidence. Martina Anderson and Ella were more seasoned prisoners, adapted to their situations, wary of their rights and had a programme laid out for their future prison stay. They were much interested in news from home and friends in prison in Ireland.

After Durham we soon saw that we would have to rush things to keep to our time-table. Finding Frankland Prison which was in Durham county was quite a problem, although I must say the cardinal and John Ward were excellent pilots. The cardinal was usually bent down over his maps giving directions. One had to deal with a lot of traffic; there are many roads under repair and construction in the midlands of England; but one must also remember that new prisons in England are generally located in the most remote areas; after our experience I was immediately struck on how difficult it must be for people on visits from Ireland to find them, especially when accompanied by small children and depending on public transport; imagine the suffering when told, as has happened, that their relative had been moved to a prison at the other end of England. At last we found Frankland, situated at a tiny village called Brasside. Here we met the other two of the Winchester Three, John McCann of Dublin and Finbarr Cullen of Maynooth. Finbarr's mother had lectured in history at Maynooth under the cardinal's professorship and Finbarr as a boy had served his Mass. Both young men were in good form and in a state of expectation as to the outcome of their appeal, Finbarr quiet and philosophical, John more extrovert, very talkative, his good nature shining in his face.

Both the cardinal and I knew John McComb from his letters; he is a prolific letter-writer and a keen observer of the political situation. He likes an argument. One could be at home with him right away. He wrote movingly in praise of the cardinal to the
Irish News
after the cardinal's death. Martin Foran impressed us very much. He has fought a lone battle for release; he has always maintained his innocence and maintains he was ‘stitched-up'. He is not in good health. It is a pity both he and Judith Ward do not get more support from the general public.

We had quite a long journey to our next prison, Full Sutton. We were late but again the authorities were considerate. It is a new prison and is quite foreboding in appearance. The Anglican chaplain looked after us, and brought us coffee. He seemed very interested in us, partly, I suppose, because he was married to an Irish girl. We had a long happy conversation with Billy Power and Richard McIlkenny of the Birmingham Six. Everything seemed hopeful for them. There was still the euphoria at the release of the Guildford Four and one felt that 1990 would see the Six free. Both these men have a well-known reputation of being very spiritual. McIlkenny is known as ‘the bishop'. I had visited him previously in Wormwood Scrubbs and I could see he was held in high respect by the officers there. This was our last prison visit of the day so we were no longer under pressure. The cardinal relaxed with his pipe and coffee and spoke at length to the men, filling them with hope and encouragement, relating details of events in Ireland which he thought would interest them.

It was dark of course when we set out for Leicester where we were to spend the night. One can imagine how tired and hungry we were when we arrived at our hotel. The next day's programme was just as hectic – Leicester, Gartree and Long Lartin. On our way to Leicester prison the cardinal had good fun using his car telephone, a gift he had lately received, contacting the prisoner governor to say we were on our way and ringing the chaplain, Fr Kieran O'Shea. Leicester is a typical city prison, nineteenth century Victorian style, dirty, gloomy and crumbling. Our visit there was to a very secure section where Gerry McDonnell, Pat Magee and Paddy McLoughlin, all of Belfast, and a few others were housed. You entered a small ante-room to the closed unit. Here a number of officers kept constant watch through a large heavily plated window which almost made up one wall of the room and looked into the wing. They were surrounded with television surveillance monitors and various electronic gadgets for opening and closing doors. The men inside were very critical of their conditions. They called it the Yellow Submarine – ‘We all live in a Yellow Submarine ...' The only outlet they had to fresh air was a tiny little yard which itself was roofed with glass. Gerry McDonnell was one of the escapees from Long Kesh. He with Magee, Martina Anderson and Ella O'Dwyer had been picked up in Glasgow. Magee and McDonnell I had met before in Brixton. Gerry McDonnell is an indefatigable correspondent. I had known his late father for many years so we always kept in contact. The cardinal took time to talk to each man individually. In the prison I heard that an Armagh man (non-political) was held in another wing. I went to see him. No prisoners were in sight in any of the wings. They were all locked up. When the cell was opened up for me I was shocked to see that he shared the cell with many others. The overcrowding in British jails is, of course, a scandal. Then I couldn't help thinking – what a strange fate that a young man whom I saw grow up as a child in a little street in Armagh ends up in a cell in Leicester Prison!

Gartree, Market Harborough, was our next stop. As usual we had a hectic rush and then a search to find it. We had to wait to the afternoon as we arrived at meal time. We met Ronnie McCartney of Belfast. Ronnie is a model prisoner who has got a university degree while in prison. The prison authorities and the Board of Governors (some of whom we met) were in high praise of him and all were anxious that he be transferred to the north of Ireland which he desires. Every time he fulfils the regulations in this regard the Home Office makes excuses and keeps ‘changing the goal posts'. One felt that their motive was vindictive and that the deterrent factor was unreasonably important to them. The cardinal had written letters supporting Ronnie in his request. Poor Paddy Hill was locked up in another section of the prison. The whole pressure following the release of the Guildford Four had got to him and he was ‘very high'. The cardinal took a long time talking to him in gentle tones until he calmed down. It was wonderful to see his patience and compassion.

Long Lartin at Evesham, Worcester, was our sixth prison in two days. There was some satisfaction in the achievement but I will never forget the rush and tension trying to reach the prisons at speed lest we might overshoot a time factor and not get in. Three of the Birmingham men were in prison here. With the prison chaplain we saw Gerry Hunter and Hugh Callaghan in the chapel. Again this is a modern prison in the ‘back of beyond'. Both men were in good form and hopeful of release. It is sad to think that a whole year has passed since our visit and they are still in jail. Surely their release must come with this new appeal. John Walker was in the visiting section so we made our way there and talked to him and his relatives. Walker is a very sympathetic type of man and has helped other prisoners a lot. With him at his visiting table was Vincent Hickey of the Carlswater Bridge case. It is a case that has featured in newspapers and television. Again a case of men protesting their innocence. Vincent told me that John Walker helped him a lot in prison.

From Worcester we set out on the last stage of our journey through Wales to Fishguard, somewhat exhilarated, relaxing from the intensity of the human problems and the depressing world of prison life. Once again the cardinal shoved in a rousing cassette and joined in the songs. We celebrated in Fishguard with a good meal. The town is literally a dead end. There was nothing to be gained driving round in the dark so we lined up in the queue for the boat and tried to doze while the wind and rain howled in from the sea. Ever solicitous the cardinal went to a little office to book a cabin, something which he pursued again on the boat. At least we got lying down. Rosslare appeared at last. The weather was good, the air fresh and the sun shining. We hit the trail for Armagh, stopping at Ashbourne for a meal. There the cardinal was reminded of a hilarious episode in the life of one of our late parish priests who had been a professor in Maynooth. We spluttered and laughed over the story. When we arrived back at Ara Coeli, the cardinal and John checked the mileage in the car. From Ara Coeli to Ara Coeli we had travelled 1,200 mile in a few days, a little indication of the pressures the cardinal worked under and the stamina needed for his work. But he thought it was worth it, just as the compassionate Christ did not spare himself. When the cardinal died these same prisoners we had visited sent messages of grief. The cardinal had showed himself a true friend to them. ‘I was in prison and you visited me.'

This articles was first published in Creggan, No. 5, 1991.

One of the pleasant things I enjoyed in the cardinal's history class my first year in Maynooth was his occasional foray into literature and art. I can still see him holding up his Carlton Hayes
Political History of Modern Europe,
turning the art pictures towards us and commenting on them, from Giotto to Delacroix and Goya. Many a student I'm sure was inspired by those occasional lectures to pace later in life the corridors of the Louvre and the Prado. I wasn't surprised then when he commissioned the
Cross of Life
by Imogen Stuart, this beautiful crucifix which dominates Armagh cathedral. I would like to meditate on the Cross for a few minutes.

First of all the simple reality that we all must die. And Jesus joined us in solidarity. God did not spare his own son. A stark reality, literally. ‘My God, my God, why have you deserted me?' Everybody is welcome to lie before this altar in death. It is a simple common denominator, for saint and sinner, the one who loved or hated, young and old, rich and poor, parishioner and cardinal. Our liturgy then, first and foremost, is a powerful plea for mercy before it is a ceremony in honour and thanksgiving for the life of the person who has died. So our prayer for the salvation of Tomás, for the forgiveness of his sins and failures.

This crucifix is a distortion. It casts a shadow. ‘I thirst'. The daily cross of the follower of Christ. Sickness. Tragedy. Pain. Whatever the mystery of suffering, Christ has taught us that it is vicarious, redeeming, salvific and medicinal. By his wounds we are healed. And St Paul has taught us we fill up what is lacking in Christ's suffering and that is redeeming too. The arms of Christ embrace us all from the Cross and Jesus has gathered up Tomás into that loving embrace. The new Adam restores everything in love.

As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face

May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.

I am sure Tomás, as every man, suffered. Whatever the blows from the sticks and stones of life or the burden of office this suffering is mingled with the suffering and forgiveness of Christ from the Cross – ‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do'. And that was a great virtue of Tomás. He forgave everybody. He held malice against no person.

But Imogen Stuart's cross is more than a distortion of pain. It is the Tree of Life. It is the tree of Paradise flowering once again. The white flowers underneath emphasise the new garden of heaven. A new creation. A new Adam. A new Tomás. Christ on the Cross is like a great bird poised for the flight to heaven going home to his Father. The Flight of Victory. And I can imagine Tomás, An Fiach Dubh, the Black Raven as his name signifies, winging his way to Heaven, home to God the Father, home to his parents and his brother Patrick, home to Patrick, Brigid, Colm Cille, Malachy, Kilian, Fiachra, Rónán and Oliver Plunkett.

Tá Tomás Ó Fiaich molta agus mé i mo thost.
On Saturday night the Dean, his friend, paid special tribute to his personality and virtues. But just to say that I came from the same parish of Lower Creggan, that he inspired me in the direction of local history and the Irish language. He pointed out to me once that the Cross on his motto shield rises from the stony ground of Creggan. Tomás Ó Fiaich loved the stony fields of Creggan first. The rich tradition of our native parish led to his love for his country, its history, its folklore, its music and sport, its literature and above all his love of the Irish language. He was as much at home with Art Mac Cumhaigh, Art Mac Bionaid, Séamus Dall Mac Cuarta and Pádraig Mac Gioll 'Fhionduin as Patrick's
Confession,
Scotus Eriugena or
The Book of Leinster.
The local view in his philosophy broadens to a vision of Ireland, broadens to a European proficient in languages. He delineated these areas for us in the example of his life. He helped us define our nationality and gave substance to it. He will continue to inspire us in the future. The people of Ireland have come to pay respect to him. His funeral cortège was like the journey of Brian Bóramha to Armagh, as the Dean remarked, and he was a saint by acclamation like Colm Cille.