State Violence (22 page)

After the helicopter had left the scene an ambulance arrived. Fr Hughes had followed it to the casualty ward, Daisy Hill Hospital, Newry. Majella was dead. Michael and his mother had met the ambulance and car on their way home from shopping in Newry. They asked the people who were gathering in groups in Whitecross what had happened. They were told Majella was shot. They went to the hospital. Fr Hughes broke the sad news. Newspaper reporters have written up this story and politicians have commented on it. Significance has been attached to the various reports from the British army headquarters at Lisburn. David Blundy outlines them in a special report in the
Sunday Times,
22 August 1976:

‘Majella was shot about 11.45am. According to the first report of the incident issued by the press desk at the army HQ in Lisburn, it seemed that yet another child had been the victim of terrorist violence. The report, issued at 12.14pm, said that a gunman had opened fire on an army patrol in Whitecross, near the border in County Armagh, and a 12-year-old girl had been hit. It seemed that the army had not returned fire. This report was carried by Belfast's local commercial station,
Downtown,
in its news bulletins at 1pm and 2pm that day.

‘But just after 2pm, the army's story began to change significantly. The second report said that a gunman had opened fire on the army patrol, and it was “believed” that the army may have returned fire. By 3.30pm, the army press desk said it was then certain the army had returned fire, but had failed to hit the gunman. Majella O'Hare had died in the crossfire.

‘Last week, one of the senior army public relations officers at Lisburn said he didn't have the faintest idea why the army had initially denied opening fire. “We were under pressure from the press to get a statement out,” he said, “perhaps it is over-enthusiasm to get a statement out quickly.” The confusion is puzzling, however, because the one fact the army patrol could have quickly and easily ascertained was whether or not one of the soldiers fired his gun.

‘The next day, after the post-mortem report on Majella, the Royal Ulster Constabulary issued a statement “confirming that the fatal bullets probably came from an army weapon. A report that the army came under fire is still under investigation.” The post-mortem revealed that Majella had been hit by two bullets, both of them believed to have been fired by one of the army's general purpose machine-guns.

‘But there are still serious doubts about the army's claim that the patrol was fired at by a gunman. Eye-witness reports do not confirm this claim, and unofficially, police investigating the case refer to the army's “phantom gunman”.

‘In fact, police say that the army fired at least three rounds. Majella was hit by two bullets, and these have been found to be army ones. So far they are the only bullets to have been recovered. One short burst from a general purpose machine-gun would not make individual explosions, but because of the speed of fire, might sound like one bang.

‘Neither the army nor the police would comment further on the shooting last week. The army repeated the statement put out at 3.30pm on the afternoon of the shooting that an army patrol came under fire from a gunman and shot back.'

From the statements of witnesses some important points can be made in reference to some of the issues Blundy raises. There were many soldiers on the road and under cover that day. When Séamus Reavey drove down and stopped near Majella after she had been shot, there were about 15 soldiers in the vicinity. They had come from the hilly bushy left hand side of the road and the cut meadow on the right. The meadow was impossible territory for a gunman. A soldier was seen to emerge from the hedge on the left. There was no gunman there. Some of the soldiers adopted positions in anticipation of a gunman behind the chapel wall, the ‘phantom gunman'. James O'Hare was working near there. He saw no one there and heard no shot there. Witnesses on being questioned say some of the soldiers were afraid but the paratroopers didn't seem to be afraid. One thing seems certain – the paras and a few marines, as distinct from the general body, had a story prepared for a shooting incident, that they were fired on by an armalite rifle and they fired back. There was a lot of insistence to get the children, the people of the cottages, and the Reavey group to say that they heard a number of shots, variously reported 4, 5, 6, 8, 9. The blonde marine, who lay on the ground beside the Reaveys, declared it was an armalite right away. The first thing the soldier said to Fr Hughes when he arrived to attend Majella was, ‘Isn't that a terrible thing to see a little girl shot by an armalite rifle?' The dark brown-eyed para's attitude was sinister in the extreme. He tried to bully the many shots story all round. The blonde marine tried to force the exchange of shots theory on Séamus Reavey at 5.15pm that day – even saying that he fired back himself – an utter lie since he lay beside Séamus Reavey and fired no shots.

The paras who burned down people's houses in South Armagh and shot two men recently there in cold blood had prepared another ‘incident' for Ballymoyer. The irony is that things went wrong. They shot poor little Majella O'Hare, whether by accident or intent, and the killing was quickly fitted into their prepared trap and the theory of the armalite weapon, weapon of the Provisional IRA, went ahead.

For once the press desk at army HQ, Lisburn, can not be blamed for the initial story. They accepted the report sent by the para officer in command on the scene at Ballymoyer. He told them that a gunman had shot Majella. This was very shortly after Majella was shot. Una Murphy says in her statement, ‘Sometime later the soldiers came up to the gate of the house and were speaking across the radio. They said there was a couple of shots believed to be from an armalite rifle'. No doubt they thought this would deal a great blow against the Provisional IRA, following the media coverage of the tragic deaths of the Maguire children. And this worked. The report was scooped by politicians and the
Belfast Telegraph
. The para commander was sure he could bully some evidence from local residents and confuse them. What upset his cover-up? The RUC arrived on the scene. They demanded that the machine-gun be handed over for forensic inspection. The para refused because his story would be blown. The RUC insisted and it was handed over. army HQ press desk at Lisburn began to change its story significantly.

At 2pm they now said it was believed that the army may have returned fire. By 3.30pm some thinking had been done. They would certainly admit the army returned fire. They knew the RUC report would say their gun killed Majella. But they still covered up – they failed to hit the gunman. Majella died in crossfire! They have failed to retract this lie.

A British army soldier, Private Michael Williams, was charged with the murder of Majella O'Hare. The charge was later reduced to manslaughter. He was acquitted of this charge at his trial at the Belfast city commission in April, May 1977. At the trial Williams said he had opened fire on a gunman who had appeared at a gap in the hedge just after the girls passed. An RUC detective said that the only ammunition cases found in the vicinity of the shooting came from the soldier's gun. Majella was struck by two bullets fired by Williams. Williams said he was guarding other soldiers at a checkpoint near the church. He said he saw a man in the hedge. ‘I shouted “look out” and fired my weapon. The man was dressed in a brown jacket. He was in view for just seconds. As soon as I fired he disappeared'. Williams said there was a ‘crack' before he fired and added ‘I did not see the children in front of me when I fired'. He said he could not accept the suggestion that there was not a gunman in the hedge. He said he saw a gunman and that was why he fired. He said there was no way the gun could have gone off accidentally. On 2 May 1977 the
Belfast Telegraph
reported Williams's acquittal. Judge Gibson said, ‘In view of all the evidence I have come to the conclusion that there probably was a gunman and the accused saw him raise the gun to the firing position and that each of them opened fire simultaneously. The gunman made his escape during the confusion. If this is what happened the accused was entitled to shoot as the only way to prevent further shots being fired at the patrol and apprehending the terrorist ... I find the charge of recklessness is unsubstantiated and I do not accept the suggestion that the accused weapon was discharged by accident'. The judge said the opportunity that Williams had for accuracy was minimal. ‘He took the risk and Majella O'Hare was killed, but whether it was gross negligence is not to be judged from the outcome but by the chance that some fatality might occur.'

James O'Hare, father of Majella, died on 5 December 1992. On the way to the hospital in the helicopter Majella had lifted her head once and just said, ‘Daddy'.

This is an expansion of my account in the pamphlet
Majella O'Hare
(1976).

Michael McCartan, 16 years of age, an innocent unarmed Catholic boy of Lower Ormeau Road, Belfast, was shot by the RUC on 23 July 1980 and died early on 24 July. I wrote this account in a pamphlet on the killing by Fr Denis Faul and myself, published in 1980. An account of the trial of Constable Robert McKeown for his murder has been added. McKeown was acquitted.

Friday 25 July 1980 was an important date for the McCartan family who lived in Artana Street, off the Ormeau Road in south Belfast. Their son Seán, aged 15 years, was expected home from his holidays in the United States. There was an air of excitement as the day drew near. Nobody took it more serious than his father Charles McCartan, who is invalided and suffers from nervous trouble after an explosion, and his eldest brother Michael. The idea was to have the house looking nice for Seán coming home.

On Wednesday 23 July, Michael helped his father paint and decorate. He cleaned the pictures. The parents had bought a new unit which was placed against the wall near the front window of the living room in the little terrace house. It looked nice, ornaments, glass, books and records proudly arrayed. Michael was in and out of the house all day, but he wanted to stay in that evening and polish the unit. So he left word to say to his mates, when they would call, that he was asleep. His day's work, however, got the better of him and the affection for his mates finally drew him out about 8.30pm or 8.45pm.

Michael was born on 4 March 1964. His mother smiles whimsically when she recalls that his full name was Michael Hugh, but he liked to call himself Michael Séamas. Charles and Molly McCartan have just turned forty. Besides Michael, they have six other children, Seán (15), Dermot (14), Marie (12), Martin (10), Róisín (7) and Conor (6). Michael went to St Augustine's Secondary School, Ravenhill Road. He left school in May. His uncle Neill had set himself the task of getting Michael an apprenticeship in joinery or plastering. There is little prospect for Catholic teenage boys in the Belfast of the 1980s. Michael went around with some half-dozen lads of his own age. The others liked him. He was a little quiet, fond of dogs, some hunting, some fishing, discos sometimes, dandering about with his friends, playing cards in a nook under the Ormeau Road Bridge beside the river Lagan near his home. That was life.

Seven lads altogether assembled to play cards under the Bridge after 8.30pm on Wednesday night. They were all mates – Jim Morrison (16), Thomas Smith (16), Martin Robinson (17), Samuel Caskey (18), Victor Gargan (15), Bobby Harvey (17), and Michael McCartan (16). Smith, Robinson and Morrison had called for Michael. They started to play poker. A short time later Victor Gargan and Sammy Caskey came and they stood watching the game. Usually four played at a time. Then Bobby Harvey came down and asked Marty Robinson to go to the house with him. Those two left. They then let Victor and Sammy play. After Bobby Harvey and Marty Robinson came back, there was some talk about paint. There seemed to have been some exchange of conversation like, ‘Are you going to get that paint?', ‘Let's go and write our names on the wall'.

There was plenty of light to play cards, even at this time, and the huge street lamps were very bright. It was around 10pm. Some of the group were tired playing cards and the paint episode was a welcome change of scene. Four left: Harvey, Smith, Robinson and McCartan. The other three remained under the bridge in the nook playing cards. Michael's mother recalls that Michael came to the back door about 10pm. He said, ‘I want a cheese sandwich, no tea. I'll be back in a minute'. His mother gave him the sandwich, went out to the entry and shouted after him, ‘Don't you forget to come back. Your tea is ready.' That was the last she saw of him, in the middle of the entry.

A few minutes would take him back to the waste ground beside the river where once an old factory stood. That was only another street away. Artana Street and the street next to the waste ground, Dromara Street, run parallel to it. There are entries behind each street and then cuttings or narrower entries across from one street to another. People also called the strip of concrete pathing running behind Dromora Street, beside the open waste ground, an ‘entry', although it is now open on one side. Michael would have been back to his mates in a few minutes, having grabbed his snack. He may also have picked up the tin of paint and the brush from the window-sill, unknown to his mother, when he called for his sandwich.