Barnsbury Boy - Jo Kirby - 1958-1962
A Tale of Two Drivers
During the ‘Troubles’ I did a four month tour in Belfast City Centre with the 17/21st Lancers. The day before I was due to come home to the UK for a four-day R&R a car exploded to the north of us in Castle Street. We believed they were trying to drive it into the centre, but thankfully it went off before this could happen.
As a consequence instead of standing down and keeping a radio listen, a four-man team, including me, had to stay out on the streets. Nearing midnight we were in Royal Avenue, (funny how you remember the names) about halfway between our base and Donegal Square when we heard a bang and a rattle. Our first thought was who is blowing up who and where.
As we approached the square, two of us on each side, we gingerly peered round the corners in both directions expecting to be met by a hail of bullets. What we saw, in the middle of the square where surrounded by old fashioned railings, the toilets stood, was a mini car hanging half way down the stairs after crashing through said railings. The driver, after flying through the windscreen, came staggering up the stairs covered in blood.
We ran up and I, as radio man, called it in and was told to stay with him until the RUC arrived, which they did about ten minutes later. Two bloody great cops got out of their car and one said, “bejaysus, the inconsiderate so an' so - he waits till we have a fresh pot of tea on the go and he goes and has a road accident!” We went back on patrol.
What we think happened was that he fell asleep at the wheel, hence the bang without the screech of brakes. The rattle we heard was a big disco speaker, once tied on the roof, careering off down the stairs with him flying behind it.
Fortunately it was a bit of light relief considering what had happened earlier and where that was concerned, we were told that a faulty trigger probably caused the explosion, with unintended consequences for the driver.
During the ‘Troubles’ I did a four month tour in Belfast City Centre with the 17/21st Lancers. The day before I was due to come home to the UK for a four-day R&R a car exploded to the north of us in Castle Street. We believed they were trying to drive it into the centre, but thankfully it went off before this could happen.
As a consequence instead of standing down and keeping a radio listen, a four-man team, including me, had to stay out on the streets. Nearing midnight we were in Royal Avenue, (funny how you remember the names) about halfway between our base and Donegal Square when we heard a bang and a rattle. Our first thought was who is blowing up who and where.
As we approached the square, two of us on each side, we gingerly peered round the corners in both directions expecting to be met by a hail of bullets. What we saw, in the middle of the square where surrounded by old fashioned railings, the toilets stood, was a mini car hanging half way down the stairs after crashing through said railings. The driver, after flying through the windscreen, came staggering up the stairs covered in blood.
We ran up and I, as radio man, called it in and was told to stay with him until the RUC arrived, which they did about ten minutes later. Two bloody great cops got out of their car and one said, “bejaysus, the inconsiderate so an' so - he waits till we have a fresh pot of tea on the go and he goes and has a road accident!” We went back on patrol.
What we think happened was that he fell asleep at the wheel, hence the bang without the screech of brakes. The rattle we heard was a big disco speaker, once tied on the roof, careering off down the stairs with him flying behind it.
Fortunately it was a bit of light relief considering what had happened earlier and where that was concerned, we were told that a faulty trigger probably caused the explosion, with unintended consequences for the driver.