Defence Forces Review 2008

‘Carlsberg don’t do Peacekeeping’
‘Carlsberg Don’t Do Peacekeeping’
Memories of Lebanon: October 1982 - May 1983
Lt Col Brendan O’Shea
It seems like an awful long time ago now since the officers of B Company, 52 Irishbatt,
UNIFIL, met for the first time in a cold, damp, wooden hut in Collins Barracks, Cork, on the
first Monday of September in 1982. Comdt Leo Brownen was the Company Commander,
Capt Shay Gillen had just returned from a long ‘sabbatical’ with the FCA to become the 2I/C
(he had also been a ‘pathfinder’ to Lebanon with the 43rd Battalion), and the Lieutenants –
Frank Holohan, Joe McDonagh, Paul Murphy, and myself – really hadn’t a clue what we were
getting into (well I hadn’t anyway).
We were all about to embark on a huge adventure into the unknown and the fact that there was
fighting going on every day in Lebanon while we were getting to know each other in Cork
seemed to have little or no effect on anyone – except probably the boss, but if it did he kept it
to himself. Later we were joined by Christy Scott, the Company Sergeant, and Mick Nolan,
the Company Quartermaster, and I often wondered what they thought of this motley crew.
Twenty-six years later they still keep that secret very much to themselves!
We went to Kilworth to train for operations in the Middle East - but perhaps that was too
ambitious. Instead we spent most of our time operating as an enemy force in a Battalion Group
Exercise which was running there at the time. “Airport 82” they called it, and the road to No
5 Range had become an international runway capable of taking a Boeing 747 – you certainly
needed some imagination for that. The most memorable event by far was the night Cpl Jimmy
Campbell and Cpl Gus Dennis attacked and over-whelmed the Battalion Command Post – and
the less said about what happened next the better – but it was all training which was badly
needed - or so we were led to believe!!
Later in Gormanstown one hundred and thirty of us lined up in single file to receive our jabs
from Sgt Billy Cunningham. “Don’t be worried sir, no need to be squeamish” he smiled as the
guy in front of me dropped to the floor like a sack of spuds – and that before he had even seen
a needle. Jab – ouch – God that hurt, but it was all necessary to ‘protect us’ – from what I was
never told, and to this day I still have no idea.
Then, just after midnight one Tuesday morning reality struck home. The long wait was over,
and with a light mist blowing in off the Irish Sea we left our billets, and carrying whatever
few possessions we had crammed into small shoulder bags, we made our way in darkness to a
convoy of busses parked near the main gate. A piper played a tune from each province as the
crump of marching boots kept time. The night was still. It was chilly, not cold. No one spoke.
Was there and eerie feel to it Bloody right there was. I sat on the bus with Paul Murphy –
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