By Ed Schoppman
The Incident
The small sedan carrying the two Irish Republican Army operatives headed to a safehouse in Dublin. Behind the wheel, the driver was thinking about what happened not 12 hours prior when he helped pull off one of the biggest armed robberies in recent memory. It was a post office job that netted £40,000 in cash—quite impressive for 1973 and equal to about $500,000 today. He had been careful to borrow the car he was now driving and park it far from the scene of the daring heist. With their adrenaline dissipating, the two IRA men relaxed a bit, not expecting any trouble.
It’s been said that frying pans without fires are far between. When the two men pulled up to a random Gardaí (police) checkpoint, they had no idea that a search would uncover six loose rounds of .22 LR ammo under the back seat. Both knew immediately that they were screwed. In 1970s Ireland, the possession of such an “arsenal” required a license which, of course, neither of them had. The car’s owner held the proper license, but sadly, he was not present to defuse the situation. Long story short, they were immediately arrested and remanded in custody to Dublin’s Mountjoy Prison, known to the IRA as “The Joy.”
No one could have guessed that a couple of badge-heavy cops and a handful of rimfire ammo would set in motion a roller coaster chain of events. It would lead directly to two of the most insanely spectacular prison breaks in history and fuel the rise of a 21-year-old IRA commander with a natural talent for analysis, planning, and execution. This decisive and intelligent young man would become an accomplished leader, carry out both prison breaks in less than a year, embarrass the hell out of the government, and inspire two banned but chart-topping folk songs to boot. Much later, he would write a book about it all, titled Up Like a Bird.
His name is Brendan Hughes, and his story is one of transformation from an apolitical, everyday guy into a passionate guerilla operative and an expert covert organizer. His audacious acts redefined the word bold.
The Back Story
In 1921, the Irish successfully fought for their independence from England, and the island was partitioned into two countries: the Republic of Ireland, which was predominantly Catholic, and Northern Ireland, which was predominantly Protestant and remained under British rule.
But the minority in Northern Ireland suffered greatly under that rule. For example, in the city of Derry, districts had been gerrymandered to the point that Protestants controlled all politics for over 50 years. For decades, Catholics in Northern Ireland were treated like scum, and it pushed many beyond their limits.
From 1968-1998 the time of “The Troubles” in Ireland was an explosion of extremely violent guerrilla warfare. During those 30 years alone, the casualties were 3,600 dead and more than 30,000 wounded.
Yes, nasty deeds were perpetrated by both sides. For every IRA bomb that killed innocent people, there was a Bloody Sunday where British soldiers gunned down unarmed civilians. With that acknowledged, the focus here is on the man more than the movement.
The Decision
Brendan Hughes was part of the Catholic minority in County Tyrone and a very young guy when The Troubles began. He grew up in an atmosphere of discrimination and mistreatment, but despite that, the things he wanted for himself were rather modest.
Brendan grinned as he recalled: “Look, back then, my priorities were girls, cars, and booze. I didn’t know anything about politics. Hell, I wasn’t even sure where the border was!”
However, he quickly found the deck stacked against him and his entire community. Catholics were routinely denied jobs of any kind. Without a job, getting housing was nearly impossible. Without a permanent residence, you had no voting rights, so you could forget about trying to change the system from the inside. With no means of peaceful resolution, many concluded that fighting was the only option.
But there were those that didn’t go straight to the “bullets and bombs” approach. Many were inspired by the civil rights movement in the US and wanted to emulate it. Brendan and his friends tried that peaceful protest route, but the authorities responded with violence against them and other Catholics throughout the country. Brendan, therefore, made his decision. He would join the IRA and fight back, though he had no training and knew nothing about guerilla warfare, guns, or covert operations.
In his book, Brendan writes:
Our demands weren’t ridiculous: an end to gerrymandering, equal voting rights, and fair access to public housing. Then, the British Army arrived to protect the system that kept us down. This just confirmed my belief that the only way we would ever get change was by armed resistance. I had had more than enough.
I couldn’t recall any fear or doubt. I hated them. I couldn’t wait to get going.
– Up Like a Bird, by Brendan Hughes and Douglas Dalby
As a new recruit, his training consisted of the basics: Stripping, cleaning, and the use of firearms, guerilla tactics, communications protocols, and the handling of simple explosive devices. But the difficulties his brigade faced were formidable. Consider that the entire weapons arsenal for County Tyrone consisted of a handful of old Lee-Enfield rifles and a few revolvers. Not exactly the ideal tools to take on the mighty British Empire. But as Brendan tells it, what carried them through was their brotherhood, their brains, and their balls. You may already know that the IRA kept the British Army and the Northern Irish forces off balance for decades, but a little-known fact is that the number of active IRA operatives was no more than about 350 committed, trained individuals. Food for thought.
The Concept
It wasn’t long before Brendan’s decision-making and organizational skills identified him as a natural. He became something of an expert on intelligence gathering and “fund raising” (aka bank robbery). In fact, he even planned and led the post office job discussed earlier. It was that heist and the arrest of his friends that led to the concept of a prison break. But how to pull it off in the middle of Ireland’s biggest city?
Brendan explains:
“The Minister of Defence was a pompous ass who flew around in a helicopter and just dropped into places all over the country. After one of our mates saw a helicopter landing unannounced in the Mountjoy yard, we conceived the idea of an airborne breakout. We thought the screws (guards) would assume it was a surprise government visit when they heard a chopper approaching.”
Some of the IRA leadership thought the plan couldn’t work, but Brendan knew better. His team found a helicopter touring company outside of Dublin and planned to rent one of their choppers, land it unannounced in the prison yard, and load up their comrades. It was simple. They would be in and out before anyone could blink. What could go wrong?
As it turns out, quite a bit.
The Breakout
All effective units have their standard operating procedures. Brendan’s team was no exception:
1. Never use your own phone for work.
2. Commit the plan to memory; write nothing down.
3. Don’t have evidence on you or leave any behind.
4. Change your location often.
5. Meet in person and at safe venues.
6. Keep your mouth shut.
7. Everyone stays sober before a mission.
But there were also mission-specific layers of operational security. For the Mountjoy job they set up an elaborate and untraceable backstory for the American front man who would rent the chopper, as well as stolen cars/stolen plates where appropriate, cash-only transactions, forged I.D.s, multiple clean cars driven by their owners, the means to dispose of evidence, separate escape routes, and safe houses. The mission would launch on October 31, 1973, and in the wake of it all the cops should find just an empty stolen car, an empty helicopter, and no solid leads. At least, that was the plan.
Things at Mountjoy that morning proceeded per the usual boring routine. As the inmates milled about the exercise yard, the unmistakable sound of rotor blades was heard in the distance. Within minutes, the French Alouette II roared over the wall, descended, and hovered just above the ground while the three inmates (briefed well ahead of time) scrambled aboard. Those guards who weren’t being held back by the rest of the inmates stood slack-jawed and unbelieving as the chopper’s engine screamed in the effort to take off. The escapees began to think that the rescue might not get off the ground when, without warning, the chopper surged over the top of the wall and rocketed toward the horizon.
The countryside was stunned and exhilarated with news of the breakout, but the media frenzy and the resulting embarrassment to senior political hacks created serious heartburn for a few. Those few desperately needed a scapegoat to cover up their incompetence.
Brendan soon learned that the higher you climb the rockpile, the more venomous the vipers are. He was quickly singled out and abruptly arrested only 13 days after the escape. Given his long track record of expertly evading the authorities, it was way beyond suspicious and reeked of betrayal. Brendan ultimately discovered his arrest was the result of a self-serving rat in the IRA ranks.
After a kangaroo trial, he was sentenced to Portlaoise Prison, where all IRA inmates had been transferred after the Mountjoy escape. Evidently, the authorities were convinced that Portlaoise was more secure. What they didn’t count on was Brendan’s talent for detecting, analyzing, and exploiting weaknesses.
The Bog
Portlaoise Prison, known by both the inmates and the guards as “The Bog,” was certainly a tighter facility. The place was well armed, including manned machine gun emplacements on the rooftops. Seeing this, Brendan hatched an innovative and ambitious escape plan that went far beyond the default “Let’s dig a tunnel” approach. If fortune truly favored the bold, he would prove it yet again.
After months of meticulous planning, the time had come. Brendan gave the signal to create the diversion, and chaos erupted. In the face of submachine-gun fire, he led those inmates bold enough to run past it to a weak spot in the inner wall, affixed the smuggled explosives to it, and set them off. In a deafening flash, they were through and sprinting past the prison governor’s house to the outer gate, on which they repeated the process. When the smoke finally cleared, 19 inmates had vanished into the rural countryside.
But so close on the heels of the Mountjoy escape, how could the authorities let another prison break happen? Clearly, they underestimated their opponent.
Brendan explains:
“Remember that security was appropriate for the time. The guards didn’t have trained dogs or x-ray machines. If the items brought in passed visual inspection, the inmate got them. They were used to dealing mostly with small-time criminals. They certainly weren’t ready for us lunatics.”
If you want the full badass story, including the harrowing and hilarious aftermath, you’ll have to read Up Like a Bird. Let’s just say the ultimate success of the Bog Breakout was a collection of parts that came together like a jigsaw puzzle, picture-side-down. It was a crazy blend of Irish country music, blocks of mahogany, cardboard hats, gelignite, Celtic crosses, high heels, detonators, and a wedding limo.
The Present
This Halloween marked the 50th anniversary of the ingenious and surreal escape from The Joy. As the subsequent years marched by, the war continued grinding on. It took another quarter century of blood and destruction before the Good Friday Agreement was signed which ostensibly ended The Troubles. However, there were some who would not accept the peace.
To get a deeper understanding, I was advised to pay a visit to the city of Derry on the border between the Republic and Northern Ireland. It was ground zero for much of the fighting, and, to this day, there are very intense, hard feelings as evidenced by the graffiti, the many murals, and memorials. In Free Derry, it’s obvious that some wounds are still fresh.
I met with Brendan and his co-writer, Douglas Dalby, in a Dublin hotel lobby this past April. I was impressed by Brendan’s gentlemanly, articulate, and courteous manner as well as Doug’s deep knowledge of Irish history. Brendan told a wild story of commitment, danger, betrayal and hardship, but somehow, he managed to find humor in some of the tough times. Brendan truly believes that his compatriots are better off now than they were 50 years ago but recognizes that there is certainly work remaining.
He concludes:
“I never felt more alive than I did back then. But don’t listen to any of that shit about living fast and dying young. I may have treated it like a game at times, but it wasn’t like that. I don’t regret what happened to me. I would do the same again. I was defending my community.
During my time in the IRA, I did my best to behave with integrity and fairness. All a man can do is his best, and that’s what I tried to do. I wish I could have done more, and done it better, but there it is, and there it remains.”
