Defence Forces Review 2008

‘Carlsberg don’t do Peacekeeping’
I met Danny O’Sullivan and Billy Harris looking sun-tanned and as good humoured as ever.
I had known them for what seemed like a very long time but in army terms it had only been
a year or two. I had also trained them both as recruits so there was a special bond as well.
Danny handed over a grotty parka jacket and a UN peaker in even worse condition. The
parka I would need for the winter, he said, (what winter – the sun is splitting the rocks here)
and the peaker, well I could wear that right away if I wanted to – and I did. Later I found 20
Major he had left in a pocket. Knowing Danny he probably had many more stashed away
somewhere else which would invariably necessitate deep discussion with a custom’s man at
Dublin airport!
Then it was time for this group of the 51st to go and the big green bird hurtled itself northwards
down the runway, dragged itself painfully into the air, banked to the west, and in minutes was
gone. We on the other hand were still standing on the tarmac, bored, tired, hungry, and unable
to move until an Israeli Liaison Officer could be found to escort us out of the city – and we
were not his priority. Eventually, and in fading light we began our slow sweaty journey to
the south in a convoy of trucks and air conditioned busses. (Air-conditioning – what airconditioning
– it might have worked four years ago but it certainly was not working now)
With Israelis everywhere, US marines on the airport road, and background noise aplenty most
of us just crashed out and fell asleep.
Hours later I awoke in Tibnin, or at least that’s where the French driver said we were. It
was black dark outside but the transfer of people all seemed to go like clockwork. Guides
appeared from the Companys and in minutes the convoy had broken up into smaller packets
all going in different directions. We sneaked our way through the darkness to Haddathah
village where Comdt Ray Cawley and Capt Hugh O’Donovan were waiting to greet us. They
looked like old sweats with their faded uniforms and worn berets, and nothing much seemed
to be bothering them.
Hugh said he didn’t want to go home. Capt Tom Quirke said somewhere called At Tiri was his
home. What All meaningless to me. Had these guys been spending too much time in the sun
On the way in I noticed a sign over the door, “Ballymaloe House”, and inside I found a toilet
with running water. Carlsberg didn’t do peacekeeping but if they did they would probably set
up shop in Haddathah. Now how bad could this be What were all the war stories about Well
I soon discovered. One week later on 27 October, just after Chalk 2 had arrived on the ground,
at about 7.30pm in the evening the radio sprang to life. “Three Irish soldiers shot at Tibnin
Bridge”. Where the hell was Tibnin Bridge What had happened No answers.
Instead, Comdt Cawley (he was still in charge for a few more days) looked straight at me and
quietly asked “what are you doing” “Nothing”, I replied (what the hell was I supposed to be
doing) “Right”, he said, “round up as many as you can from here and go and re-enforce the
checkpoint in the village”. “Yes sir” (What, you can’t be serious, people are getting shot at
check points and you are putting more of us out there!)
Within minutes I was running down the road, stumbling over rocks in the darkness, and soon
arrived at the checkpoint which was buzzing with activity. Twenty-five others had also been
dragged form various parts of the camp. Sgt Johnny Scott was with me and now coming to the
159