‘Lost in his fight for justice’
By Mickey English
1969 the year British troops were first seen on our streets. We were living in Gobnascale in the
Waterside and being city side people we never really settled and in May 1972 we moved back
to Cable Street in the heart of the Bogside. Despite the turmoil of the time (a few months after
Bloody Sunday) we were happy to be back to our roots.
As Republicans my wife and myself, quickly
became active in Republican politics, we both
joined Sinn Fein. A short time later I became
chairperson of Derry Sinn Fein. Such prominence
brought with it a constant daily routine of being
stopped and searched on sight. Regular house
raids were also part of the harassment process.
Every now and again these house raids concluded
with my wife and me being arrested.
At this time we had seven children. Can you
envisage the terror and fright our children
endured particularly on those occasions when
they witnessed their parents being frog marched
out of the house. No consideration was given to
the children’s terror or for their welfare, only the
Gary English
thoughtfulness of our neighbors, in caring for
them until other family members arrived and calmed them down.
One of these house raids began at 5.30am on a bright July morning in 1974. By 6.00am we
were both taken from our house. I was taken to Victoria Barracks on the Strand Road. From
past experience I assumed that my wife was also taken there. How wrong I was. She had been
taken in the land rover to the Claremount Church at the top of the Rock Road, where she was
told to get out. As she began to walk she could hear the land rover close behind, she heard the
click of the gun. A voice called out, “the next one’s for real”. This continued right back to
Francis Street. Can you imagine her terror! On reaching home she was overcome with sheer
relief and collapsed on the doorstep.
It’s now 1981, the year of the Hunger Strike. The eldest of our seven children are now
teenagers, Gary the oldest would be 20 in November, the youngest 9 and 11. The annual Easter
Sunday march was tension filled; people’s minds were fixed on the H Blocks and the plight of
the Hunger Strikers, as was ours. By midnight, we had our own personal nightmare to contend
with, family life would never be the same.
Word had spread that two young boys had been killed in Creggan Street. It was known quite
early on that one of the boys was named James Brown from Creggan but no one could put a
name to the other boy. All our children were at home and accounted for, with the exception of
Gary. We made no association with Gary and the death of the two boys. He was nineteen, a
sensible young man and most particular about his appearance. He would not get himself dirty
by throwing stones in a riot. As time past Gary was still not home. Things got really bad; the
riots were as bad as any that were seen in the city for some years. This worried us, yet we still
made no connection with the earlier incident at Creggan Street. At half eleven we set out to
look for Gary, the possibility that he was dead still hadn’t entered our minds. We made our way
to the Rossville flats; there was chaos all around us. We stopped young people who would have
known Gary and asked had they seen him, the answer was always no. By now it was just after
midnight so we made our way home, still asking as we went had anybody seen Gary. At the top
of Lisfannon Park one young boy that we asked said that that he had seen him about twenty
minutes earlier. Feeling a bit more content we went home.
On approaching the front door I noticed our hall light was on and a half naked figure was
silhouetted in the light. For the first time that night I was filled with dread. I rushed ahead of
Maureen; the figure was our other son Charles. He was in shock, the phone still in his hand and
not seeming to realize he was standing in his underpants, afraid to ask what he was doing, he
began to explain. He said the RUC had called asking for his mother, or me and they asked who
was speaking. Charles identified himself. On doing so they asked for a description of Gary, the
clothes he was wearing and any jewelry he had on. Concluding that all the details matched the
RUC man told him that his brother was dead, to be more precise, “his brother is in the morgue
as flat as a pancake”. Sheer shock overtook me.
The loss of Gary was a pain unbearable for both Maureen and me. The effect on the rest of the
children we are still uncovering, as the years go by slowly they start talking about their
experience as to how they were feeling and how they coped.
To give a detailed account of what happened after Gary’s death would need a book by itself.
First the court case, then the hard fight for the inquest. What I can tell you is this. Gary was
murdered. First he was hit by the land rover then as he lay unconscious, deliberately driven
over, this we can prove beyond all reasonable doubt.
We coped as best we could without Gary, hard though it was and by 1984 our eldest daughter
Pauline gave birth to our first grandson, naming him Gary. Things were looking up and slowly
we got back to some degree of normality. On 26th July 1985 Charles celebrated his 21st
birthday. The following week our other two daughters, Michelle and Stephanie, went on their
first holiday to Spain. On 6th August tragedy was to
strike again and wounds that had only partially
healed were to be reopened.
For some reason throughout that day I had a
foreboding feeling which I put down initially to
worrying about the girls on holiday, so that night I
went to the Rocking Chair for a pint, but I couldn’t
shake the feeling. As I was going up Fahan Street I
heard a bang, this wasn’t unusual given the
environment that we lived in. About 15 minutes
after entering the bar someone came in and said
they heard some people had been injured in an
explosion. I left my pint and walked out, leaving
my coat behind and made my way down to
Rossville Street flats. As I approached a group
Charles English
of young fellows that I knew, one of them
turned his head away when he saw me coming towards them, he couldn’t look me straight in
the face. I knew then something was wrong and I asked if they knew where Charles was. He
said, “he’s alright Mr. English”, I said, “I didn’t ask if he was alright, I asked if you knew
where he was” He told me that Charles had been in the explosion and was now in a car on his
way to Letterkenny hospital but that he was alright as he had seen him walking. I made my way
back home not knowing what to do next. I was met by my brother in law Gerard, Charles
uncle, who told me Charles was in Altnagelvin but he was all right. I said, “No he isn’t”. I still
had that uncomfortable feeling. Gerard however insisted that he was all right and he would tell
me the full story as we made our way to Altnagelvin. He told me how Charles and another
young man had been injured and were taken away from the scene to a safe house, both of them
were put in a car to be taken to Letterkenny hospital but on the way there was a change of plan
and they were taken to Altnagelvin.
When we arrived at the casualty department I asked to see Charles. The nurse left and came
back with a doctor and a chaplain who asked me to follow them into a room. I told them there
would be no need, as I knew what they were going to tell me. All I wanted was to be taken to
my son. The doctor and the chaplain were insisting that I sit down to talk to them but I was just
as adamant to be taken to Charles. At that I turned to Gerard and told him Charles was dead. I
could see he was badly shaken and had a look of disbelief on his face. Even though he had been
through a lot himself the news of Charles’s death hit him hard. He very honestly said to me, “I
can’t hack this.” On seeing this I told him I would go to the mortuary myself and it was now
his task to get in touch with Maureen and the rest of the family.
I expected to be taken to the mortuary but was directed away by a detective to a car park. A
flash lamp was produced and I was asked to identify Charles ‘s body, which was still in the
back of the car. I demanded to know why Charles was not taken to the mortuary and was told it
was for forensic reasons. The chaplain wanted to give Charles the last rites and was told the
door of the car could not be opened for forensic reasons. But he had drawn attention to the fact
that the door had already been opened for the other young man to be taken to the emergency
ward and for the doctor to pronounce Charles dead. At this they agreed that the door could be
opened for the chaplain but I still refused to identify my son’s body in the back of the car and
waited until such times that Charles’s body was removed to the mortuary for a formal
identification.
From the time that Charles’s closest friend, (Richie Quigley) was killed on active service I
knew that he was an IRA volunteer. On one occasion Charles had reason to talk to me about
something that was bothering him and it was then that I talked to him about being a volunteer. I
told him that he had three options as a volunteer; living over the border if he was lucky,
spending the better part of his life in jail or coming into the house like his brother had, in a
coffin. He told me that he knew the options and was prepared. We talked about the night Gary
was killed. Charles asked me, “did I remember the phone call and how they told him his
brother was as flat as a pancake?” I said yes and he said, “ From that time on I knew exactly the
kind of people I was up against.” He went on to say, “ I know you as my father have done
everything you possibly could and you did it your way, I have made a decision to do it my way.
I will get as much satisfaction doing it my way and that is sad.” From this conversation I knew
Charles was a soldier and I respected him as one. As a mark of respect he was buried with full
military honours. Having buried one son was unthinkable; having to bury a second was
unbearable.
The years have not helped to diminish the pain and anguish felt by every remaining member of
my family and now my grandchildren know of their uncles and share in that grief. And as we
look at each one we wonder what Charles and Gary’s children may have looked like.