Rendezvous with the Enemy: My Brother's Life and Death with the Coldstream Guards in Northern Ireland

Preface

Some three years ago, whilst writing my first book on the Northern Ireland troubles, I had cause to meet Darren who was immensely helpful with my research. Indeed, he not only appeared in my first book on the troubles, A Long Long War but more importantly, he became my friend.

We had both served in the finest Regiment in the British Army – the Royal Green Jackets – albeit, many years apart, so we had much in common. I was delighted that he chose to write about his brother Simon who was sadly killed in Carrickovaddy Woods, close to Crossmaglen and in Darren's own time in Northern Ireland.

Then he asked me to write the preface to his long-awaited book and I accepted the honour with great alacrity – it is an absolute pleasure and a privilege to do so.

I know that Darren was very close to his brother and his loss was a tragedy to the Ware family and to his grieving widow Carol, and he rightly regards him as a hero. To those who served in Ulster we knew the fears and the dangers but we also shared the camaraderie and the love of our platoon comrades, and they are men who we will never forget.

Darren's excellent book describes Simon's time in ‘Bandit country’ and his eventual death caused by a massive IRA landmine whilst on a rural patrol. He also looks at his own time in Northern Ireland where he was ultimately awarded a coveted Mention in Dispatches for saving the lives of his patrol comrades after foiling an IRA booby trapped device in a derelict house.

I commend this well written, moving and honest account of what it was like for a squaddie serving in the streets and country lanes of Northern Ireland.

If you want the truth about what happened during a forgotten war on our own doorsteps, I strongly recommend that you read this excellent account of Darren Ware's brother Simon who tragically became one of 1,294 British soldiers who died in or as a direct consequence of the troubles.

Darren; thanks for the honour of writing this preface. I am both moved and humbled.

Ken M Wharton, Queensland, Australia, July 2010

Author of A Long Long War, Bullets, Bombs and Cups of Tea and Bloody Belfast

Introduction

Many books have been written about the ‘Troubles’ in Northern Ireland describing its history from 1969 to the time of the end of military involvement and the conclusion of Operation Banner in July 2007. There seems to be a lot of history written since the early 70's until the early to mid 1990's, but much more of the 90's was not reported, as it seemed that the conflict was reducing in violence and heading towards an end. The Civil Rights marches that took place in Northern Ireland in 1969 were the turning point of the deployment of British troops and in the early part of that year troops were deployed to protect the vital installations that remained a terrorist threat. By the middle of August the rioting increased, which led to the deployment of British troops on the streets of Northern Ireland. It was a decision and a time in current history that would affect many people and most importantly the population of Northern Ireland - the people who wanted the change and the people who didn't; for those who didn't want the military intrusion it would affect their lives, their livelihoods and at times their thoughts and opinions, which would fluctuate over the years and bring devastation to their lives.

Late afternoon on 14th August 1969 the 1st Battalion The Prince Of Wales’ Own Regiment marched into Londonderry to assist the Royal Ulster Constabulary in the defeat of terrorism and to assist in public disorder. For the soldiers who marched into the city that day, it was an unfamiliar environment and an unfamiliar campaign that would change and become unpredictable. Those soldiers had left their hometowns to enter someone else's hometown with its unfamiliar surroundings and unsure people. For the occupants of Londonderry, the soldiers who marched onto their streets and doorsteps were unfamiliar, they too did not know what to expect from this army which was sent into their hometown by Britain's Government.

The following day troops deployed onto the streets of Belfast and it was clear by this stage that the British Government had committed themselves to another sensitive situation that needed to be resolved and just like the soldiers of the First World War, they were told that they would be home and out of Northern Ireland by Christmas. This was a misunderstanding that was gladly met by the soldiers, but those living in Northern Ireland who felt that protection was needed were led to believe that it was only temporary. This was a protection that the RUC and others who were vulnerable felt needed to be maintained. Initially the troops received a positive welcome from the Catholic community but as the years went by and following the tragic events of Bloody Sunday on 30th January 1972, that situation changed.

In February 1971 the IRA killed its first British soldier in the conflict; Gunner Robert Curtis was 20 years old when he was shot dead in a fierce firefight in the New Lodge area of Belfast. This was an incident which also claimed the life of another colleague. In February 1997, six days short of 26 years later, the Provisional IRA killed its last soldier in the current conflict. Lance Bombardier Stephen Restorick was shot dead as he manned a vehicle checkpoint at the security force base at Bessbrook in South Armagh. Could Stephen Restorick's and countless others murders been prevented? The author believes so.

In March of 1991 new peace talks began between Sinn Fein, the IRA and the British government in an attempt to resolve the then current peace talks. As a serving soldier in County Tyrone at the time I was informed that the talks were estimated to take 10 weeks, but more than 10 years later the situation remained completely unsolved. A frustrating situation for many, but it is one that would never have been resolved overnight.

Shortly before 31st August 1994 the IRA announced that they would begin a ceasefire, or rather what they described as a ‘cessation of hostilities’ as from midnight. At the time I was traveling in an army 4-tonne truck across Otterburn training area in Northumberland when I read the front-page headlines and my complete attention was drawn to this historic news. I was surprised at the announcement but I was in two minds. Firstly I thought it would be good to end the violence for a lasting peace and to prevent further loss of life, but on the other hand I felt that the loss of lives through those years would have been a waste and that all may be forgotten. However in February 1996 this ceasefire came to an end with a massive bomb attack in London's Dockland area which claimed the lives of two newsagents working close to Canary Wharf. Again, the Provisional IRA declared another ceasefire almost 18 months later in July 1997, which to this day remains in force.

The Good Friday Agreement of April 1998 which led to the early release of terrorist prisoners in September of the same year was a further step in the Peace process. Clearly this was a victorious event in the eyes of the convicted terrorists and their families and supporters. Some of these prisoners had only been sentenced in recent years having received life sentences, multiple life sentences and other custodial sentences for their involvement in the murders of soldiers, police officers and civilians. They had been released early, allowed to continue with their lives and many of them were hailed as heroes, ‘heroes’ of a political war. For those relatives and friends of the soldiers, police officers and civilians who had been killed, the early release was a bitter blow and created a huge sense of injustice and insult. In the late 90's and early 2000's Northern Ireland had remained in the background of military history and home affairs and had been taken over by more recent hostilities such as Gulf War 2, Sierra Leone and Afghanistan.

There came a day in September 1998 when the distinctive tall observation towers close to the border of South Armagh and other security installations began to be dismantled. For years they had been the eyes and ears of the army and police assisting in the build-up of intelligence and the protection of the area against terrorist attacks. It was an historic event which people thought would never occur, as the eyes and ears of military operations were reduced. Similarly, there was a reduction in military presence when on Thursday 11th August 2003 the last army patrol of Londonderry took place and the following day a national newspaper reported the headlines - ‘Last patrol on the streets of fear’. The 1st Battalion Green Howards ended joint army and police patrols in Londonderry and handed over Ebrington Barracks to the police after years of a bittersweet military presence.

The 31st July 2007 saw the official end to Operation Banner, the British Army's deployment to Northern Ireland. The build-up to this date saw many observation towers being dismantled, permanent vehicle checkpoints being removed and security force bases being handed back over to local authorities. There were mixed feelings from the hundreds of thousands of people who had been affected by ‘The Troubles’. This was a time of huge change and a time to move on for a better future. There was no fanfare as soldiers left the security force bases for the last time and in particularly Bessbrook Mill, which had been the busiest heli ort in Europe for the duration of Operation Banner. There was no extravaganza or parades as the soldiers left and it seemed a case of ‘last one out turn the lights off and shut the door’.

Over the 38 years of operations in Northern Ireland 300,000 soldiers had deployed on routine patrols in the province in both urban and rural environments. In the early 70's tactics were developed until it was realised that it had come to a fight against terrorists, and that the British army were staying to assist the RUC in the defeat of them. Military intelligence gained information on the terrorist organisations, which enabled troops to direct their tactics towards a certain threat. Thousands of routine patrols deployed throughout the six counties over many years of covert and overt operations, one in particular was no different.

On 11th March 1991 the 2nd Battalion Coldstream Guards deployed to Northern Ireland to begin a six-month tour of South Armagh, operating in ‘Bandit Country’. This book is about one patrol, one soldier and one story. Corporal Simon Ware was a member of call sign Yankee One Zero Bravo who deployed from their base in Bessbrook Mill, South Armagh on a routine three-day patrol in the Newtownhamilton area close to the border on 15th August 1991. At 22 years old this was his second tour of the Northern Ireland. By the third day the patrol had completed all their tasks and were moving north through a wooded area towards their helicopter pick-up point north of Carrickovaddy Wood. Twenty minutes before the helicopter was due to land a huge explosion tore up the ground tragically killing Corporal Simon Ware.

This story introduces Simon's life, sets the scene of the tour, the patrol and the subsequent events. It is written from the heart of Simon's brother, Darren, and those involved; it is honest and to the point, and in graphic detail.

Readers of this book should understand that the author has conducted years of enquiries and investigation into the research of the circumstances aided by many agencies. Due to the sensitivity of military operations in South Armagh and Northern Ireland certain aspects are in brief detail. The surnames of all involved have been omitted in order to respect their privacy and security although all of the Christian names remain the same in order to set the scene. Where appointments have been used, it is for those who were in that position in 1991 and has been done so to preserve privacy. Individuals who have contributed information and help have recalled events from that day. Those who were members of the patrol and those who were at the scene immediately afterwards to view the scene and deal with the aftermath have memories and feelings in their minds forever - those memories that were bloodied and that have scarred their minds.

My thoughts are with those people who on this occasion, and many other occasions, have been forced to face the aftermath of violent death in the fight for peace; those people that have had no choice but to witness close friends killed by acts of terrorism, and whose memories and mental scars will never fade.

1

Hard times, terrorists and bombs

Iled the patrol of eight soldiers on a routine foot patrol as I exited the rear of Strabane RUC station just after 11pm on Friday April 3rd 1992. I infiltrated the northern part of the town using the remote rural area as my cover in an effort not to be compromised too soon. The route took me along Church Street leading downhill into the town centre to Meetinghouse Street; it was a very busy evening being a Friday. As I passed the large graveyard to my right, with its church nestled in amongst the darkened grounds and high walls, the ambient streetlights illuminated the busy Friday night town. A figure in the alleyway to my left fifteen metres in front drew my attention as he fumbled around near to parked vehicles amongst the darkened shadows. I halted the patrol and observed him for a few seconds through the SUSAT sight on top of my weapon, which afforded me an amount of magnification.

Trying to make out the identity of the figure my suspicions were confirmed when I recognised the male as a known IRA terrorist, and my actions during the night which followed were to save lives.

It was Monday 16th November 1987 and I left my house in urban North London and boarded the train at Southbury Road railway station, a quiet station at Ponders End. I was 16 years old, dressed in a Burton's suit and carrying the suitcase that contained my worldly possessions that I hoped would help maintain my survival. Lonely, nervous and full of anticipation I had said goodbye to my girlfriend, Lisa, and my family, and left with a heart full of emotion and uncertainty into the real world, not knowing what to expect – the world that only months earlier my school teachers had warned me of if I was to make a break for life. Excited and determined I continued my journey. I walked the short distance to the train station which was only about half a mile away up the hill. It was a cold and overcast November morning as I walked through my hometown passing people who were going about their normal business and daily routine, passing those houses and shops that were shuttered down or boarded up with signs saying ‘Closed’ or ‘Gone’ showing failed homes and unsuccessful businesses in the 80's. My destiny would be decided by the journey ahead. My dad said goodbye to me at the platform and off I went.

Some hours later, after a thoughtful journey, I arrived at Winchester train station where I joined several other similarly-dressed civilians in the same situation as me and as I alighted the train I looked around aimlessly, wondering what my next step was. For the soldiers who greeted us, we stood out like sore thumbs and we were then shepherded by the NCO, who checked our names on the nominal roll, and instructed us firmly to stand to attention and address him as Corporal. Then, it was onto a coach for our next journey along Andover Road North, a straight Roman road out of Winchester. The coach turned left onto the short windy entrance to Sir John Moore Barracks, a magnificent brand new barracks which was the home of the Light Division, and had opened the previous year. Standing proud and prominent next to the guardroom was the large life-size bronze statue of Sir John Moore, flanked each side by buglers of the Light Division.

This was to be my home for the next eight and a half months whilst I completed my basic training in Inkerman Platoon of the Junior Soldiers’ Company. Intake day was fast and furious and no sooner had I had got off the train at Winchester my life was changed – it was not going to be easy. Although having spent some years in the army cadets, I had some limited army knowledge, I kept that advantage to myself for the time being and played the ‘grey man’ so as not to compromise myself. We were formed up together in three ranks and doubled everywhere to be shown around the camp. Perhaps the choice of wearing my new Burton's suit was not a practical choice in hindsight. As I stood in a silent line outside the Quartermaster's Clothing Store waiting to be issued with my kit and clothing I observed instructors shouting at other recruits, others were being beasted and a variety of various military activities going on. I daren't move my head to look around through fear of being noticed and being beasted as a consequence. Therefore my eyes were like that of an Action Man ‘eagle eyes’ to see what was going on. Back at the clothing store my equipment and clothing was thrown at me and as I quickly crammed it into the two green army kit bags I was issued the store man shouted out the items. I thought, what was coming next? There was no time to check the items for my own satisfaction and I was instructed to …sign here. As we were hurriedly marched back to the accommodation our kit was thrown into our locker followed immediately by screaming instructions to form up outside to have the process repeated. … Ware, get over here …. Mattress, mattress cover, two sheets, three blankets, two pillows and bedding cover … Sign here then get outside then we were doubled back to the block. There I was, struggling to carry it all as I quickly went back to the room. That night I sat on my bed thinking of the easy life at home that I had just left behind and wondered what was for the best. My positive thoughts kicked in then. I was only 16 years old and I convinced myself of the positive life ahead and was adamant that I was doing the right thing. I was in a room of 10 soldiers in my section and there were four other rooms in the platoon, all of us in the same boat. I persevered and pressed on.

That night we were shown how to iron our uniform, shown how to make our beds and present them in the morning. We were shown how to shower, how to shave and how to present ourselves, our locker and our equipment. The weeks and months ahead would prove hard for some as people faltered, fell by the wayside, gave in, got back-squadded or went AWOL. Training in the months ahead was easy, comfortable, horrible, enjoyable and most of the time very hard, both physically and mentally. My positive attitude of things getting better gave me the strength to push on as I didn't want to fail myself.

For the first six weeks my life was to be restricted and leaving camp within that time was not an option. Our confines of the camp was restricted to the accommodation or the NAAFI, and the once a week hobby night kept the activities varied. I first chose to do weight training but soon it wore off and I then changed it to indoor shooting but that soon wore off too, so I went back to weight training and just looked busy in the gym, until one of the training corporals who was a body builder soon got us all into a motivated workout. Since then I suppose I got used to the gym routine.

Two weeks into my training I ‘phoned home to be told by my mother that my grandfather had died. I then thought that there would be a short period of release to get away for a few days for the funeral, but I was so sadly wrong. I mentioned it to my section commander, who did not straightaway assume that I would be released to go home, and to my surprise I was refused any compassionate leave. It was at this point that I realised how hard and emotionless the army could be. They really meant it when we were told we were confined to camp for six weeks.

The Royal Green Jacket cap badge. Worn with pride throughout my career.

Pay in the army was calculated on a daily rate and you were paid every day of the year, which was great when you think that you are paid for days off on leave. In 1987 my daily rate was £9.19 before tax, and as it was my first full-time job I did not complain. Our weekly limit was £20 to draw out as cash from the pay office, which meant that spending was tight. This is all I had to purchase toiletries, stationery and phone calls and what little I had left was a luxury. Food and accommodation was already paid for.

Once into the swing of things, basic training was going well. Before I knew it I had completed the first six weeks which earned me my Royal Green Jacket beret and cap badge, plus a weekend leave pass with a bit of freedom.

On my return to camp some restrictions were lifted as we were allowed out of camp and given a bit more cash to