The Troubles: Ireland's Ordeal 1966–1995 and the Search for Peace

by Tim Pat Coogan

the first serious Norman penetrations occurred during the late 1160s. To the physical force school of Irish nationalism the Norman coming is generally regarded as the starting point for ‘eight hundred years of British oppression’.

Insularity therefore ensured that, unlike its neighbour, Ireland did not become influenced by Roman laws and culture or, for some centuries, by significant changes in living patterns such as the development of cities. These only began to sprout after the arrival of the Vikings in the ninth century, long after the Roman legions had vanished. Gaelic society continued to be centred on cattle rearing, rather than on tillage.

Without the zeal of the Irish Monks, who single-handedly refounded civilisation throughout the continent in the bays and valleys of their exile, the world that came after them would have been an entirely different one – a world without books. And our own world would never have come to be.2 Cahill is supported in his evaluation of the Irish contribution by another independent authority who judged that: The travels and settlement of Irish monks and scholars on the Continent of Europe, that complex movement of expansion… is one of the most important cultural phenomena of the early Middle Ages. There is nothing in pre-Carolingian Europe that could match it in either extent or lasting effect. In Northern France and Burgundy, in the territories of modern Switzerland, Northern Italy, in the Rhine Valley, in Franconia, in Bavaria and in the Salzburg area, the Scotti, as the Irish were called until the eleventh century, have left their traces.

One of the ironies of history is that Salisbury’s initiative on behalf of Anglo-Norman imperialism was given its final successful impetus by an Irishman, Diarmuid MacMurchada, King of Leinster, who invited the help of Henry II in putting down his local enemies. After much parleying and delay a party of Norman knights and their followers arrived on the Wexford coast in 1169, capturing the major cites in the area, Waterford and Wexford, and eventually gaining control of Dublin. In return for his support of MacMurchada, the Norman knight Richard FitzGilbert – or Strongbow, as he is better remembered in Ireland – was given MacMurchada’s daughter, Aoife, in marriage and succeeded him as King of Leinster. MacMurchada to this day is execrated by some in Ireland for thus initiating both the ‘eight hundred years of British oppression’

though Ireland lay too close to England for independence, unlike the other Celtic regions of Wales and Scotland, she lay just too far away for complete conquest. Though successive British kings and generals arrived in Ireland imbued with the same attitude towards the natives as that displayed by the whites towards the aborigines of both Australia and North America, insurgency – be it of native origin, or in concert with some enemy of hers, Spain or France – continued throughout the centuries to be a problem for England. Off her western approaches there now lay a green Cuba.

as the Irish normally came off second best in set-piece military encounters, and did far better when they used the tactic of employing the bogs and forests to harry and hide, a tradition of guerrilla warfare entered Irish folklore to emerge finally with a degree of success in the early part of the twentieth century.

In fact William was fighting for the English crown against his rival James II as part of a far wider European campaign in which the Pope was opposed to Louis XIV and his allies and supported a coalition which included William of Orange. The papacy was thus on the side of the Protestant William, not the Catholic James. On learning of William’s victory the Pope was so delighted that he arranged for the celebration of a Pontifical High Mass in Rome and ordered a Te Deum and the ringing of church bells.

William had successfully concluded his campaign at Limerick by negotiating a reasonable treaty – by the standards of the time – and sailed off to his wider European theatre leaving the treaty’s administration in the hands of the victorious Protestant settlers who had fought alongside him. To them the term ‘Catholic’ equalled ‘treacherous’, and they interpreted the treaty not in terms of equity, but as a means of ensuring Protestant ascendancy.

The effects of the penal laws further depressed Catholics, making it nearly impossible for them to own property, receive an education, or enter the professions without renouncing their religion. The penal laws bore severely on English Catholics also, but the difference between the Irish and the English Catholics was that in Ireland the laws were used as a means of subjugating a race as much as a religion.

looking at ordinary artefacts, I’m not talking about grand stuff that you’d see in castles, but dishes, knives, forks, jugs, plates, things like that that have survived from as far back as the sixteenth century, how little of that sort of thing exists in Ireland – and the reason. Just when people would be getting a little prosperity, every fifty years or so there’d be some new devastation and they’d be pounded back into the slime.’

London regarded the Protestant settlers in Ireland not merely as members of the favoured Church but as bulwarks of the Crown. For example, during the 1770s forces raised amongst northern Protestants were used to put down Catholic peasant agitation in the south. Against this backdrop, in 1762 the English Government intervened to abort a scheme, promoted by a Colonel Alexander McNutt, to populate Nova Scotia with Ulster Protestants. Hardy, self-reliant, and, unlike their dispossessed Catholic counterparts, generally possessed of a trade, money, and a woman kinswoman, be it sister or spouse, the Ulster planters were ideally suitable for dealing with the challenges of Canada’s lonely opportunities. Accordingly the scheme was at first given official backing, but on further investigation a government committee vetoed it in fright at the prospect that it might lead to ‘depopulation of Protestant communities in Ireland’.5 It is idle, but nevertheless beguiling, to speculate that, had it not done so, there might be no ‘Ulster Troubles’ today.

The aim of the United Irishmen was to unite Catholics, Protestants and Dissenters in setting up an Irish republic which would separate from England.

The rebellion itself, and in particular the capture of Wolfe Tone and a part of the French fleet which he was bringing to Ireland, gave the British a pretext for proroguing the Irish parliament. By the Act of Union of 1800, it was amalgamated with the British parliament. Gladstone later said of the bribery and intimidation which secured the Irish votes necessary for the passing of the Act mat there was ‘no blacker or fouler transaction in the history of man’. The parliament had represented the interests of some half a million Anglo-Irish Protestants, the Ascendancy as they were known, not the other three million who inhabited the island. The latter were Catholics whose voice counted for little or nothing.

One of the landmarks of Ireland is the Obelisk standing atop of Killiney Hill, overlooking Dublin Bay. It was erected as a relief work during a famine which occurred one hundred years before the major nineteenth-century famine.

particularly in the west and north-west, the general position of the Irish peasants was one of near helotry, living out their lives in conditions of poverty and disease which objective English observers adjudged unfit even for the rearing of animals.

O’Connell had built up what deserves to be regarded as the first successful non-violent civil rights organisation in history, the Catholic Association.

In all, the famine years consigned some one million people to the grave, a further million to emigration and probably condemned a further million to a half-life of poverty and near-starvation. Previously there had been heavy emigration from Ireland, particularly after the Napoleonic wars when agricultural prices fell steeply. But this swelling tide of human misery carried with it, to America in particular, a lasting characteristic of anti-British feeling that forms part of the tradition of continuing support for physical force which, to a degree, continues to assist the IRA today.

Another outcome of the famine which had a lasting impact was the formulation of the Irish Republican Brotherhood. The IRB – or Fenian movement, as it became popularly known after the legendary Irish version of the Samurai – was founded in 1858 in Dublin, and the following year spread to New York, where the movement became known as Clann na Gael (Family of Gaels). Like the United Irishmen, of which it was a lineal descendant, it was an oath-bound secret society whose revolutionary objectives were as much anathematized by the Church as by the British. Bishop Moriarty of Kerry produced one of the more celebrated denunciations, saying of the Fenians that: ‘Eternity is not long enough nor hell hot enough to punish such miscreants.’9

Visually Belfast differed in appearance from other Irish cities like Dublin or Cork. It was a red-bricked Mancunian look-alike set down in the Irish countryside. That countryside also looked different to what one would have seen around Cork or Dublin. Instead of the unkempt lusciousness of the south there was the neat fertility of the Scottish lowlands.

Though the crisis thus appeared to pass inconclusively, it had in fact thrown up the formula which the British would later use in what for many years appeared to be a successful attempt to solve the Irish question: partition. Partition had been formally proposed by Bonar Law at a conference convened by the King at Buckingham Palace on 21 July 1914. He suggested the exclusion of six of Ulster’s nine counties from the working of the Home Rule Bill. This was opposed by both Redmond and Carson, Redmond on the grounds that the six excluded counties – Armagh, Antrim, Down, Derry, Fermanagh and Tyrone – contained sizeable Catholic minorities. Instead he sought a system of option whereby counties could opt for or against Home Rule depending on their religious coloration. Carson objected on the cunningly chosen grounds that nine counties would be the best solution, because the increased Catholic representation from the remaining three Ulster counties, Donegal, Cavan and Monaghan, would be a force for the eventual coming-together of the two parts of the island!

The hatred of the Unionists for Home Rule was genuine enough and understandable against a background of centuries of sectarian warfare. In fact, in view of this background it was a major blunder on the part of the framers of the first Home Rule proposals not to have incorporated in the Bill safeguards for those of the Protestant tradition. Failure to do so gave a patina of reality to the ‘Home Rule is Rome rule’ argument which became embedded in the Unionists’ resistance.

The people of Dublin at first execrated the rebels: the business community because of the destruction caused, chiefly by British shelling, during the week-long fighting; while the working class were stirred to wrath by the ‘separation women’, who were receiving separation allowances because their husbands were fighting in the war, and who viewed the proceedings as stabbing the lads abroad in the back. Prisoners were booed as they were led to the dock for transhipment to prisons in England. However, British policy soon had the effect of swinging the popularity pendulum in the opposite direction. Sixteen of the rising’s leaders were executed, including all seven signatories of the Proclamation of a Republic for all Ireland. The rising had begun with the reading of it on the steps of the General Post Office in Dublin.

Realising their mistake, the government ordered the prisoners released within months. It was too late: they returned home, metamorphosed in the public imagination from murderous vandals into revolutionary heroes, to be cheered back on to the streets they had been booed off from.

Following the election Sinn Fein withdrew from Westminster, set up its own parliament, known as the Dail, in Dublin, and, in reiteration of the demand made in the proclamation of 1916, declared an all-Ireland republic. From then on the Volunteers became known generally as the Irish Republican Army (IRA). Spearheaded by the genius at the head of the IRB, Michael Collins, regarded as the father of modern urban guerrilla warfare for his work in building up an underground intelligence network which defeated the British secret service, the IRA ultimately brought the British to the conference table.

His intelligence network had left him in no doubt as to the extent of the forces in men and money which the British were deploying to bolster the Unionists’ resistance to any encroachment on the six-county state. If he did not seize the opportunity of setting up an imperfect twenty-six-county state, the British might not withdraw from the south either. There was precedent for such missed opportunities for Ireland in Parnell’s career and what had happened to Home Rule. Conservative Party members and senior figures in the army, like Sir Henry Wilson, who had been one of the architects of the Curragh Mutiny saga, were strongly opposed to such withdrawal, arguing that it was ‘giving in to terrorism’. Collins did not regard the treaty as a perfect solution but as a ‘stepping stone’, as he put it, to full and final freedom. Eventually, after one of the most sterile and rancorous debates in Irish political history, the ‘stepping stone’ argument carried the day and the treaty was accepted by a majority of the southern electorate. The sizeable Catholic minority in the northern state viewed the treaty with considerable apprehension because of the prospect of being handed over to the tender mercies of the Unionist and Protestant majority.

Following his death, his colleagues, none of whom possessed his drive or initiative, had their hands full in merely trying to keep alive the newly formed twenty-six-county state. The aftermath of the death and destruction of the civil war, the waste, and above all the disillusionment – that this was what the independence struggle, ‘that delirium of the brave’, had led to – drained the infant Free State of vision, political energy and financial resources.

One of the arguments in favour of the treaty had been that it allowed for the setting-up of a boundary commission. This, it was hoped by the Nationalists, would redraw the boundary in accordance with the wishes of the inhabitants. Had this been done, the most the Unionists could have hoped to control of their six counties would have been an unworkable three and a half. The city of Derry, most of the country around it, and the bulk of Counties Tyrone and Fermanagh would probably have gone to the Nationalists and been ceded to the Free State.

While there was no official policy of discrimination against Protestants, the ethos of the south became unwelcoming to aspects of Protestantism. Ethos, economics, emigration, a lower birth rate, the change in administration all played their part in making the south’s small Protestant population become smaller still. It fell from 327, 171 in 1911 to roughly 130, 000 fifty years later. When James Craig declared that the Belfast parliament was a ‘protestant parliament for a protestant people’, his hearers understood that custom and usage meant that the Protestants got and would continue to get the jobs and the houses at the expense of their Catholic neighbours. The southern state was much more benign and democratic than that. But it was nevertheless a benign, democratic Roman Catholic state.

the vastly greater Unionist area which would have resulted, were Donegal, Cavan and Monaghan included, seemed logical, but what Craig wanted was control. The extra land would have brought with it extra Catholics and would, as Carson had said, have made for assimilation into a united Ireland. Accordingly, the Unionists got not a state of nine counties, but a statelet of six. But they also took control. The Catholics under their domination would get not the protections of the law, but its sanctions, forcing them into either subjection or emigration. Control, however, would remain.

Two other provisions which the British and the Nationalists agreed with initially were dropped because of the control philosophy. One was an upper house for the new parliament which would have been weighted to provide a redress for Catholic concerns. Carson vetoed this, flatly saying he was as prepared to take to the streets against the proposal as he had been against Home Rule itself. The other proposal was that the electoral system be by proportional representation as it was in the south. However, the very reason that it was introduced by Collins and Griffith to the south, because it protected minorities, was anathema to the Unionists.

what was created was a fundamentally undemocratic state specifically designed to prevent power changing hands, or to allow reform to take place from within by the normal democratic processes of education, organisation, and the ballot box. In many ways the hard-working, God-fearing fundamentalists of the Six Counties resembled the Boers of South Africa. They developed the same laager mentality and a system of administration very similar to apartheid, albeit based on religion rather than colour. But, unlike the South Africans, no British prime minister warned the Unionists that they must heed the winds of change. London took exactly the opposite approach, hands off, not hands on. The cheques were written, but no effort was made to ensure that the money was spent on maintaining a state that conformed even remotely to British standards. A gathering storm of Catholic grievance burst during the 1960s and a new generation of British decision-takers found that it must return to the old question of Ireland.

Currie was not normally resentful about being discriminated against. That was simply the way things were, like the fact that although he had given some of his children Irish names like Sean and Seamus, these would only be accepted for registration by the authorities in their English forms of John and James. There was no point in railing against such matters. One might as well feel aggrieved at the way that, approaching the July marching season, his Orange neighbours not only paraded ostentatiously with banner, fife and drum in commemoration of King William’s victory over the Catholics of yore, they also became distant and withdrawn from the Catholics of the day. They ceased to either speak or mingle with them until after the ‘twalfth’, when normal Irish friendly relationships would re-establish themselves for another year as though nothing had happened. If one elected to live in the Six Counties, rather than emigrate as so many were forced to, then one accepted the system.

…most of the good shops were owned by Protestants. There were two factories in which the lower echelons were Catholic, but they had no managerial representations in the factories. There were two secondary schools: St Patrick’s, the Catholic institution, and the Protestant Royal, a fine school. But the difference between the Royal and St Pat’s was that the people there knew that its pupils were going to get the jobs when they were educated… because of what had happened before, the worst farms were in the mountainy parts and they were the Catholic farms. The good lowland farms were mostly Protestant because they had owned them since the sixteenth or seventeenth century.

The two things that came across very clearly were one, the almost apartheid nature of society. Though people, Protestant and Catholic, lived side by side literally, there was very little contact between them. Secondly you learned very quickly from the other children at school that Catholics couldn’t get jobs in a whole range of occupations. There was no point in applying for jobs under the local authorities or within the Northern Ireland civil service for instance. Nor in a whole lot of private employments, the shipyard and the aircraft factory [Short Brothers, and Harland and Wolff in Belfast] and so forth. That was just the inherited folklore of all the children around, they didn’t bother applying for these jobs, they were just closed to them.

Gerrymandering meant that electoral boundaries were drawn in such a way that an area with a Nationalist majority would be hived off to form a single electoral unit. Then two areas with very small Unionist majorities would be set up as separate electoral units.

The population of Derry was roughly two-thirds Catholic to one-third Protestant, and the Catholic population kept growing. Nevertheless, the population increase did not mean that the Catholics could ever overtake the Protestants. Successive gerrymanders repeatedly redrew the electoral boundaries, so that the Unionist one-third were able to control the city.

The principle of adult suffrage – that is, one man, one vote – was severely distorted in Six County elections. The electoral methodology employed will shortly be described, but here it should be noted that, bearing in mind the fact that most business and property was owned by Protestants, although long abolished in England both business and property votes still counted in local elections when Austin Currie entered Parliament. The general vote was confined to the occupier of a house and his wife. Occupiers’ children over twenty-one, and any servants or subtenants in a house, were excluded from the local franchise. Austin Currie explained how the system worked and how it affected him as a young MP: Housing was the key to the vote. The vote at local government elections was restricted to property owners and their spouses. Or to tenants of public authority houses and their spouses. I was an MP at Stormont. I could just as well have been an MP at Westminster. I had a vote in general elections to either Stormont or Westminster. But I did not have a vote in local elections to elect councillors because I wasn’t married and lived at home with my mother and father. My mother and father were the only two in our large household who had a vote in council elections. The purpose of the exercise was to ensure that Unionists had continued supremacy in the areas where in fact they were in the minority. Places like Derry, Armagh, Dungannon, Enniskillen and so on. This was the only way in whi...

In and around Caledon there were as usual many Catholics waiting patiently and uselessly for a council house. The housing list contained a total of 269 names; many of them had been on the list for ten years and more. Some of the families had as many as fourteen children. All of them were outraged when the eighteen-year-old Protestant secretary of a nearby Unionist politician was awarded a house when she became engaged – to a local B-Special.

The 1961 census gives the population of Derry City as 53, 744. Of these 36, 049 were Catholic and 17, 695 Protestant. The franchise stipulations cut this two-to-one Catholic ratio so heavily that only 14, 325 Catholics were entitled to vote. However, this still represented a sizeable majority over the 9, 235 Protestants who had the suffrage. But incredibly enough, this numerical superiority was turned into a minority on the council by an exercise in gerrymandering. The town was divided into three wards: North, Waterside and South. North contained 6, 711 voters, divided in the Protestants’ favour in a ratio of two to one. It returned eight representatives, all of them Unionists. Waterside had 5, 459 voters, again roughly divided in the Protestants’ favour by a majority of two to one. It returned four representatives, all Unionist. This left some 11, 390 voters penned into the South Ward, which returned eight representatives. Of these voters, 10, 130 were Catholics. Understandably, this ten-to-one majority returned a clean sweep of Catholic representatives. But when the Catholic South Ward’s eight seats were placed against North and Waterside’s combined return of twelve seats, the majority population of Catholic Derry was outvoted 12–8 and housing policy remained in Unionist hands. What this meant in practice was that in 1965 – while there were only a handful of unhoused Protestants – there were 2, 000 Catholic families on the city’s waiting lists. Of the 177 employees of Lo...

the parable of the apocryphal Sammy McFetridge. Sammy had been a fine, upstanding bigot all his life, but on his deathbed the dreadful rumour swept the village that he was turning pape. Fearing that Ahogill was in danger of losing its place amidst the Nations of the Earth, a delegation of elders visited the dying man to enquire how the rumour had spread. With his dying breath, Sammy gasped out: ‘It’s no rumour. It’s the truth – it’s better that one of them goes than one of us.’

In 1956 the Catholic birth rate had caused the Unionists to attempt a derogation from the established policy of moving in step with Britain to introduce to the north any social welfare improvements effected in the ‘UK mainland’. The initial enabling Bill sought to give fourth and subsequent children less than the British benefits.

There was nothing in that remit about also making recommendations as to the site or sites of any proposed new educational institutions. However, this is what the committee did. Its recommendation, Coleraine, in the east, was accepted by the Government. Derry, which had hoped to be the beneficiary of any extension of university facilities, was outraged. Firstly, it already had a university college, Magee, a constituent college of Queen’s University, Belfast. Being the only university unit outside Belfast, Magee had appeared the logical base for expansion. Secondly, Coleraine only had a population of 12, 000, less than a quarter of Derry’s 54, 000. Thirdly, and the third was more than equal to the first, there had not been a single Catholic on the committee. The resultant protest movement was unprecedented. The same sort of liberal Unionist sentiment which had prompted the suggestion that Catholics be admitted to the party surfaced and made common cause with the Catholics of Derry and with the opposition parties at Stormont. A University for Derry Campaign was founded, under the chairmanship of a young Derry schoolteacher, John Hume, who had built a reputation for himself through his pioneering work in establishing the Credit Union movement throughout Ireland. On 18 February 1965 the city of Derry virtually closed down; shops, schools, businesses of all kinds. A motorised cavalcade containing 1, 500 vehicles drove the ninety miles to Stormont to protest the Coleraine decisio...

although defeated on the university issue, for John Hume, and many other educated young Catholics, the seeds of a civil rights street protest movement had been planted by the Magee controversy.

It is one of the tragedies of contemporary Ireland that the aged de Valera did not yield the reins earlier. The Republic, which, unlike the Six Counties, had no subsidies, had almost collapsed economically by the time he did so in 1959. By then he was seventy-eight, blind and incapable of innovation.

As the fifties drew to a close, income in the Republic overall was only some 55 per cent of that in the UK. But as it was nearer 65 per cent in the eastern province of Leinster where Dublin is situated, the sort of imbalances we have seen in the Six Counties were if anything worse in the impoverished western province of Connacht.

Paisley and his ‘attendant voices’ did more than anyone else in Ireland over the entire period of the troubles to ‘block the way’ to a constitutional solution of the problems.

But there is another overtone to Paisleyism: a patina of violence which tinges his presentation of popery and the bogus connection he forges between the papacy and the IRA. The Protestant Telegraph also claimed, in April 1967, that the following is the Sinn Fein Oath: These Protestant robbers and brutes, these unbelievers of our faith, will be driven like the swine they are into the sea by fire, the knife or the poison cup until we of the Catholic Faith and avowed supporters of all Sinn Fein action and principles clear these heretics from our land… At any cost we must work and seek, using any method of deception to gain our ends, towards the destruction of all Protestants and the advancement of the priesthood and the Catholic Faith until the Pope is complete ruler of the whole world… We must strike at every opportunity, using all methods of causing ill-feeling within the Protestant ranks and in their business. The employment of any means will be blessed by our earthly Fathers, the priests, and thrice blessed by his Holiness the Pope. So shall we of the Roman Catholic Church and Faith destroy with smiles of thanksgiving to our Holy Father the Pope all who shall not join us and accept our beliefs.

A far more serious breach of the peace occurred in 1964 during the Westminster election campaign. Paisley discovered that the Sinn Fein candidate, Liam McMillan, had displayed a tricolour, the Irish national flag, in the window of his election headquarters in Divis Street, off the Falls Road. One of the arrows in Unionism’s quiver of defence against Nationalism was the Flags and Emblems Act which prohibited the showing in public of the tricolour. No one troubled too much about its provisions when it came to displaying the flag in Nationalist areas only, particularly in a dingy, inconspicuous little back street like Divis. However, Paisley told a packed and perfervid meeting at the Ulster Hall on 27 September that if the flag were not removed within two days he would lead a march to do so himself. Next day scores of RUC men were sent to break down the door of the Sinn Fein office and remove the flag.

Two days later the tricolour was again displayed and the RUC smashed their way into the building with pickaxes to remove it. The removal was the signal for the worst rioting in Belfast for thirty years. Petrol bombs began making their appearance as the RUC deployed armoured cars and water cannons. Next night, Friday, the RUC ‘pacified’ the Falls. Hundreds of helmeted police backed up by armoured cars drove protestors off the streets and some fifty of them into hospital. The tension spread to Dublin where a crowd marched on the British Embassy and stoned the Gardai. In Belfast, Nationalist leaders appealed for peace. A compromise was worked out whereby the rioting stopped and the RUC did not interfere when the tricolour was carried openly on the Sunday at a Republican parade.

The new UVF was a long way from the force which in Carson’s day was supported by earl, general and mill-owner. Its predominantly working-class membership consisted, in Michael Farrell’s description, of ‘…a small group of Paisley supporters who, alarmed by his denunciations of the Unionist sell-out, had set up an armed organisation’.44 It was an inefficient, confused, but deadly organisation which, apart from the fears of the sell-out trumpeted by Paisley, wanted to strike in some way at Republicans in the year of the rising’s commemoration. The UVF did this by mounting a series of petrol bomb attacks on Catholic homes, schools and shops throughout the spring of 1966. On 7 May the UVF claimed the first life to be lost in the Troubles, that of an elderly Protestant, a Mrs Gould, who had the misfortune to live beside a Catholic pub which the UVF attacked with petrol bombs. The first fatal shooting occurred that month also, in Clonard Street, an area which was to prove one of the most significant trouble spots in the entire statelet. The attack followed the issuing of a statement on 22 May which said: ‘From this day on we declare war against the IRA, and its splinter groups. Known IRA men will be executed mercilessly and without hesitation.’45 On 27 May a UVF gang set forth after this declaration to find and kill a well-known Belfast Republican, Leo Martin. Failing to find him, they shot the nearest convenient Catholic, John Scullion, who died of his wounds on 11 June. By 23 J...