The Droppin Well bombing. December 6, 1982,

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To their eternal memory and may the scum who perpetrated this despicable act rot and burn in hell

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Yes, just another atrocity that never got a public inquiry, but atrocities involving soldiers never did. RIP Lads and Lassies

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RIP Troops......

[Filbert Fox Association Member Find all posts View Profile Close Filbert Fox]

Will be thinking of you Mary have a safe trip and rest assured we shall be thinking of them .

[Guest Close Bean]

Hello all,

I just posted an update to my FB page yesterday to try and explain to people why I am the way I am, Im not going to elaborate on it, but rememberance day and the 6 Dec hold special meaning for me beyond the poppy so thought I would share it with you in this forum.

I have gone on to be reasonably balanced and achieved my goals, but there is never a day when I do not think of my friends who perished that night and it stays with me forever, I have never been back and to be honest, I dont know if I am as brave as some of you who have been there since, but believe me that everyone was affected that night.....incidentally, I ended up being blown through the wall of the ladies toilet and came to between the partition wall and the toilet pan, another 3 or 4 inches left or right and I might have been number 18. Anyway my deepest feelings are with all survivors as we are left to remember and here is what I wrote to let my friends who didnt know about it......

It is rememberance day, I like to remember....
No bone posts, no regurgitated nonsense, just a simple follow up from something that shaped my life that some of you know about and others will be intrigued to find out...

Pat Cooke was the ONLY person I managed to get to the ambulance alive.....The rest died!!

Cilla White was the girlfriend I had dumped the week before cos I fancied Pat Cooke..(Cilla was wheelchair bound since the bomb and its hard to live at 18 when you have no f*cking legs!)

Paul Delaney and Terry Adams were very good friends and should have been sat with us at the "survivors" table....but decided to **** off and take their chances on the dancefloor....

Can you look within your barren souls and have a bit of compassion, this happened almost 30 yrs ago!!!....and I still think of them all Military and civilian...

I came home a local hero for surviving to be feted by the national press when all I wanted to do was disappear and shut up about it. This is my first outing into openness and might be therapeutic, but never mind if its not cos if it never leaves you then you will never get over it!

I will never get over it, but have learned to live with things as they run...so if I tell you something and I am a little blunt, now you know....its cos I dont really give a toss as long as I have my family and real friends around me....anyway, heres the link!

http://www.nuzhound.com/articles/iri...ell_victim.php

And here is how it affected others.........

http://www.londonderrysentinel.co.uk...city_1_2102129

[On1on Association Member Find all posts View Profile Close On1on]

Thanks for that Bean, it makes hard reading but you're in safe company, we're used to it. Keep talking and keep sharing, you're amongst friends that understand and accept.

[Jock2413 Association Member Find all posts View Profile Close Jock2413]

Hello Bean mate. I read your story with sadness. There are many here who could relate to your experience and the survivors guilt that goes with it. And you are right, the pain never goes away but talking about it with like minded people like us does help to ease it. So stick around. You will never be on your own as long as you have access to a computer.

[spanner Association Member & WUSA Overseas rep aka Cathie Find all posts View Profile Close spanner]

G'day Bean, excuse the pun, Bean there done that, I survived a bomb attack in '71 in Belfast, My mate Gnr Paul Jacko Jckson was killed by a bomb in londonderry 28/11/72 when out with the bomb squad, i had been out with the same three felix blokes just a few days before and nothing happened to me that day. It is only since coming to this site a few years ago that I learned to cope better with my survivor guilt. Stick with it mate, every day i awake to the sound of the birds in my garden is a bonus day.
At the risk of boring those who already heard it, I have had two lots of brain surgery in 2005 to deal with problems caused by scar tissue on my brain from the bomb in 71. Why we live and others die is a mystery to me, it just IS.

[Guest Close Bean]

Where do I start?....

First of all, thanks for the support. I had hoped at some time I could get together with some of the others who experienced that night at first hand all those years ago and hopefully I will be able to meet up someday although if I were to ever revisit the site of my nightmares I would need to bring my wife and family as they have only ever heard little bits of the tale over the years and cant fathom the horror of what confronted us all at such a young age and stays with us every day for the rest of our lives.

I suppose as you get older you tend to think of your past more and things you put to the back of your mind come reaching up from the depths and smash you like a sledgehammer square in the face, this is where I am at the moment!

Until I read the other day about Cilla dying at the age of 35, I didnt really let the bombing get to me, and having read the accounts on this thread from you guys who have been back and helped others to go back, I really didnt think too much about going back, but I know I must even if it is just to stand there and cry and make a fool of myself and say sorry to all those who didnt make it out because maybe if I could have tried harder or did something different they might have got to the ambulance quicker and something could have been done, I know its irrational to think like that, but as I am sure you all know, could have? should have? would have? are the questions that run through all of our minds from time to time.

I will post an account of the evening from my perspective at a later time, but for now I am trying to remember names, who was there and suchlike, I do remember when I got back to camp when the police told us to go as we had done everything we could (and I cant remember the walk back!) there was a team of lads at the front gate to meet the stragglers. At this time I didnt realise that I had split my head open from top to bottom as I couldnt see the back of my jacket and didnt even twig that I was saturated in the blood of others (I do mean saturated) from my face to my knees.

A guy who I would like to thank was an armourer there by the name of Mel Mortimer who took me to the med centre and from there I was casevac`d to Musgrave Park by Lynx (there is a bit of a twist to that but I will tell you all as the story when I write it unfolds).

Anyway, if anyone knows of Mel, send him my regards whilst I write down in words my tale from top to bottom.....thanks again guys for your time and thoughts.

Having discovered that I can edit the post, I will just do that until someone asks me not to do it as they are losing the gist of the thread, let me start with a little bit of background both family and upbringing before I get to that day, if it gets boring then just let me know and I will expedite the sh1t and get to the point, but this isnt about just one night. I have kept my nickname on this forum as it is what I have always been called and I do not wish to hide away behind the cloak of anonymity any longer. As I now approach my 50th in a few years, I would like to have the chance to get it all out in the open and discuss some good and awful things I have done throughout so that I can at least salve my soul and believe within myself that it is maybe time for me to get over it. So if you know Bean or you knew Bean then it is I.

1960s, 1970s......Catholic family upbringing in the West of Scotland (imagine Belfast without the guns), council flat, no car, no money and no hope but my family had the catholic faith and alcohol to see them through. At that time the resemblance as some of you will know was not that far removed from Belfast and the major towns of the "Province" (or the "6 Counties" of a divided Ireland that I was brought up to swear that one day I would free them from British tyrranical rule).
Home life at the weekends consisted of the old Scottish West coast tradition handed down over generations which in the main meant Friday nights pay packet or Thursday afternoons "Broo money" was to be blown on copious amounts of Whisky, Pale Ale and McEwans Export in the days before ring-pulls and half measures, so as you can imagine after that sort of night the "adults" were prone to a song or two and, without realising or subscribing to it, I was indoctrinated into the world of Irish Republicanism through osmosis. I make no apologies, as that was the world I lived in and the priest even used to visit on a weekly basis to take money from my parents who had just about enough to survive on, but take it he did offering his platitudes, drinking tea and group prayer after that we would just have to make do that night with chip sandwiches whilst my father plugged in the music centre and we all sat around newly energised by the "visitation" and sang republican songs till bedtime.
As a special surprise, my fathers Auntie Jean and Uncle Patrick visited us from Canada once and we were spoiled rotten by the affection of these two "successful" people who left the old country behind for a life beyond this squallor and us kids just loved it and never had I met a pair of more generous souls in my short life. They would lavish us with gifts, money (which would quickly "be put away" by my parents for safekeeping)....as an aside, the week after the Droppin Well, I found out that Auntie Jean was the head of NORAID fundraising in Ontario and she was horrified that I should have been in a pub with British traitors to the Irish cause, but on the flip...my dad smashed all his republican LPs. Never did speak to the old Crone before she went to hell.....but that was still to be in the future.

Right enough of all the back-filling and getting to the point as its not an autobiography and I dont wish to detract from the subject matter for too long but I felt it was important to tell you my familial history before I continued, crazy and mixed up like most of us who have a dark secret coming out in public for the first time as it were!

We all inherently dislike those who are not ours.......

Be it (as I was) REME, ACC,AAC, RAOC, Inf ad infinitum........and most of all civvies!.....but my mistrust of civvies went a little bit further....I was neither the protector nor the aggressor to them and couldnt tell them I was catholic, so for me, the religious aspect and my background made it hard for me to mix other than with my non denominational mates or civvies who really couldnt care less, and by far guys, I got the better deal.....I loved so many people that night who were from all sides of the divide and it ripped my heart out for a good few years afterwards........so Religion, Go FCUK yourself!

Why do I say that when so many of you might disagree? I will come on to that later. What I am about to write is not all doom and gloom and morose rambling from an old who has nothing better to do than just sit at a computer and reminisce about the good old bad old days. Far from it, on that night in particular there are things that happened that still make me smile or even laugh out loud at, there are things I saw young men and women do which keep me sane and I am sure that they all feel the same about each other but they are bittersweet memories which have kept me lighthearted for all these years. I saw with my own eyes boys and girls become immortal men and women that night, immortal insofar as they never leave my mind!....to you ladies and gentlemen, for thats what you earned the right to be called, I doff my cap, tug my forelocks and salute you every 6th of December, as I know that what is on your mind that day isnt about getting the kids to school, making it a good day at the office or any of the other things we might have to do for 364 days of the year...this is OUR day, nobody can take that from us, we have a right to a few moments to ourselves to remember our friends.

I didnt meet my wife until the June following the bombing and she didnt know too much about it other than she remembered something that was on the news ages ago.
Her best friend (who I incidentally fancied the pants off! Do you see a pattern here?) introduced me as "Paul...He was in the Ballykelly bombing" and luckily for me she said "and?" (which instantly gave me the shivers, because here was one that DIDNT know) at which her friend was gutted that she could no longer bask in my celebrity left us alone to go and pester some other poor unfortunate....that was the best night of my life, and I still recount how we met even to the kids who are all grown up now, that brings a smile to my face.

Can you forgive me for not wanting my life to be ruled and fashioned by what happened that night?.....Thats why we are still together and happier than ever!

Around the September or October 1982, Private Paul Delaney pitched up in the transit accommodation at Shackleton Barracks as a shiney new slop jockey full of the wonderment and expectation, and excitement of any young SOLDIER, I capitalised that because it reinforces the fact that regardless of any divisions, we all are the same, we all joined the army and but for the grace of there being no places left at the catering college, I might not have found myself in REME as an aircraft artificer after 12 yrs and then achieving WO1 Pilot on helicopters. Paul was a lovely friendly lad who without being critical, was a 17 yr old with the naiveity that only an 18 yr old such as my friend H and I could exploit, I must add for humour only and he was an integral part of our group, but remember that by this time we were "old hands"....I had been there for at least 3 months and knew it all. Paul was not allowed out for the first month or so because he was 17 and the regulations stated that no "minor" would be allowed out, he didnt get the pi55 ripped for that one by us "vets" honest.

As things progressed as they do and somehow it feels that a lifetime can happen in a short space of time in some places, and as he was good friends with Terry we would all say hello or swap beers etc....nevertheless, whether I would have been friends with them today had they been alive, I dont honestly know cos I have lost touch with many over the years, but the chance to remain in contact for life was taken away that night, I suppose you could say we remained lifelong friends regardless.

Right ....

Finished work in the 655 hangar at around 2130.
Block 303 showered and changed by 2230....as I remember you had to be in the "well" by 2300 or no entry.
H and I signed out through 655 ops room (this meant that we didnt have to book in and out through the cheshires guardroom).
got to the Droppin Well at about 2245 (or thereabouts, depending on whether you were pi5hed on the walk up there or not)
Paid the entry fee to the really really young guy and I think it was Tanya (correct me if I am wrong) at the door.
I bought a round from none other than Pat as I wasnt going to be served by anyone else!
I must mention that on a Monday night....your entry covered a free meal and that night it was mince and potatoes or something like that, I made sure that the only person serving us that night was Patricia Cooke with her dark green eyes, irish brogue, and flowing dark locks, like a goddess....(remember, I was only 18, but she was and still is in my mind).
Finished pint, had a chat with Paul whilst we were eating, said we would join him and terry with the guys they were with after we had finished.

H got another pint, Pat cleared the table at around 2313, I laid my fags down and never saw them again.....my fags and the pint that is, you all know I saw Pat and Im still in touch with H...but in the midst of the confusion when I came to, it was a completely different world....

I was staring at a sea of pink....it was surreal, and bright, unlike the darkness behind it...turned out to be the flames from the many little fires making the girls "shitters" a bit more like heaven than anything....I do not apologise for the next statement, but I describe it to my family as "I invented hole in the wall, I saw the outline of my body in a hole sized portion of plasterboard", that must have hurt.....NO IT DIDNT!

Anyway even at such a time, I couldnt hang around the girls toilets for too long and think I may have been out for a few mins, but found my way to the edge of the rail at the edge of the dancefloor where many of you must have sat in your time? where I found H cursing cos he`d just (in his words)" grabbed a feckin spikey electric barstd of a feckin cable"....so I asked him not to touch anymore. Now you might feel that at this time we would be well gutted that we had been bombed, but here we were inside the deathtrap that was falling masonry and if god strikes me down we were laughing...we are alive kind of laughing rather than that mad kind of laughing that mental people do on films.....but laughing we were and even had time whilst trapped inside to complain about missing fags and spilled pints and FFS dont touch the wires cos they sting you. Tiny little fires were in abundance, there was a lot of peace and calm, nobody was histerical....dont touch the wires was the call (H said to me later...Too feckin late to shout that I had already had a buzz when I asked why he didnt shout it he just laughed and said bollocks I should have sorry!").

I must really emphasise that the whole incident was calm....frustratingly so, inside we were trying to get out, when you got out you were trying to get back in...H and I looked at each other when we got out and said "WTF do we do now"...bear in mind we were 18 years old, but we were soldiers....we didnt answer the question we just started shifting bodies.....TBC


Bean.

[Jock2413 Association Member Find all posts View Profile Close Jock2413]

Keep it going mate. You've got my attention.

[REMEphil Administrator Find all posts View Profile Close REMEphil]

And mine; and probably quite a few more.

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Without doubt!

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I firmly believe that not one of us who served in Northern Ireland, and survived, did not come home unaffected by what we experienced, some a great deal more than others.
Reading Beans account has deeply moved me, and has taken my thoughts back to those terrible times. Many people use these forums to 'offload', and that's precisely the reason that its here. Not one of us is getting any younger, and as the passage of time takes it's toll on those we knew, then it makes it more important to stick together. I have said this before, but all those years ago, we watched each others backs, and we still do that today.

[Guest Close Bean]

Continued....

In the immediate aftermath of the bomb going off, and having found my best mate cursing about the lack of beer on the upturned and demolished table (despite the fact that he was lying on his ar$e at the time amongst cables, wires and debris). The rail saved his life, whereas the blast had saved mine. The roof had dropped and was supported by a flimsy bit of 1/4 inch steel made into a pretty, but entirely ornamental seperator between the drinking zone and the dance floor, fabricated no doubt by the finest craftsmen that Belfast had to offer since the titanic!

As we later found out due to the miracles of modern forensic science, the bomb was placed at the table next to us....for those of you who were there, we were almost in the middle of the room. The blast had, and I swear that I saw it do this, moved along the wall and taken out the DJ and his kit causing a massive yellow "blast like" flame just as, correct me if Im wrong, but I dont think I am, "Mad World" was on the decks, and was on its way to the other end when I came to in the room of pink.

Anyway, I dye grass...the key to getting out is always to find an escape, which to the uninitiated, might seem obvious but they had probably never come across "sweaty Betty"...(I apologise in advance if one of you guys out there married her!). This lady was big, and as ever competitive, so when she saw the gap it was like a race to the front of a McDonalds queue, and believe it or not, whilst people were dying around us that night we laughed again...when she got stuck! I think there were one or two of the Cheshire guys with boots on her ar$e last time I saw her, because after all, it was our only way out at that time....I will buy those blokes a beer if ever we meet, true heroes.

I did warn you it wasnt all bad and morose, but I tell it how I remember it.......TBC

[Jock2413 Association Member Find all posts View Profile Close Jock2413]

It's nothing unusual mate. I remember after a nasty contact in Belfast. None of us were hurt but when I looked at one of my lads, his eyes were the size of saucers. I just creased up with laughter and within a few seconds, all of us were in stitches for about 2 minutes. Laughter is a good tension releaser.
Keep up with you story mate because telling it to others who know where you are coming from is also a great help. I know this from experience.