My Life With the IRA

As the summer wore on, the four of us spent less and less time together.

In fact, when I was supposed to meet up with my buddies in Paris, I was actually in Ireland getting a crash course in local politics.

To give you an idea about how much I DIDN'T KNOW about Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland in 1969, read the following story:

I had just turned 19, and a fellow backpacker gave me a boiled goose egg to celebrate the event. Otherwise it went pretty much unnoticed.

If only my attire had, as well. Having been in London a day or two earlier (and nearing my return date), I had splurged and actually purchased a souvenir -- a scarf done up in the colors and design of the Union Jack, the flag of Great Britain.

Now, that was relatively cool while I was in England. But, it was nothing short of a wearing a bull's-eye in Ireland. (Imagine wearing a swastika in Israel or a Confederate flag or a KKK hood in Watts.)

I was sporting the scarf as I disembarked in Dublin before dawn in late August and started hitchhiking out of the city.

Considering the Union Jack I had around my neck, I was fortunate to be picked up by an English tourist who was driving north with his wife and teenage daughter.

At this point, I was blissfully unaware that there was ANY conflict going on within the Emerald Isle. But, I was destined to learn.

As we headed north, we exchanged pleasantries. And, after a while, he asked if I minded stopping for a few moments at a local pub. Naturally, I said there wasn't a problem, and at the next exit, he turned off the main road and quickly found a tavern.

The females went somewhere (I never asked) and us guys went into the pub.

"Have you tried the local brew?," he inquired. I responded in the negative, and he graciously took it upon himself to order me a Guinness.

Now, I must tell you that this rather stout brew is a bit of an acquired taste. Nevertheless, I was up to the challenge and managed to down a pint of the potent beverage.

Then, it was back into the car and on the road. After a short while, he asked if I minded another quick stop, and, of course, I agreed. Another pub and another pint of Guinness and we were on the road again. But, by this time, I was having a bit of trouble concentrating.

The quick stops were repeated several more times before reaching Northern Ireland.

Eventually, he said it was the end of the line, and he dropped me off somewhere along the Falls Road in Dublin.

By then, I was quite drunk, but still alert enough to notice that things were a bit unusual from my perspective. For one thing, the policemen were carrying machine guns, and, for another, most of the side streets were blocked with still-smoking burned-out cars fortified with broken pieces of concrete and asphalt.

Oh, and, on one side of the street Union Jacks hung from the windows, and on the other side hung flags of the Republic of Ireland.

Being pretty much unable to walk straight, I manged to stagger back and forth between the two sides of the street until I came to a Catholic church where I sat down on the steps and tried to keep the world from spinning.

Eventually, a man walked up to me and said in a thick Irish brogue, "I'm going to assume you have absolutely no idea what you're doing." I told him he was quite correct, and he led me to a nearby home where I was fixed a meal and allowed to sleep until I sobered up.

When I awoke and could finally begin to reason, the Irish Republican Army (IRA) supporters who lived there explained to me the rules of war in Belfast and how dangerous it was passing between Catholic and Protestant sections of the city.

I got to know that family well and gained some understanding of and sympathy for their plight.

One evening, I even manned one of the barricades, where volunteers stayed awake all night to watch for persons who might want to do harm to the people who lived nearby. (The night before my watch, someone had hijacked a gasoline truck, set it on fire, and rammed it into several houses, burning them to the ground.)

It's way beyond the scope of this blog to adequately explain the issues involved in that conflict. Suffice it to say that it was a long and bitter struggle that didn't do anyone much good. Eventually, a peace treaty was hammered out.

But, just to be on the safe side, if I ever make it back there, I'll leave the scarf at home.