Hurling Laochra Gael

Hurling (Irish: Iománaíocht/Iomáint) is an outdoor team game of ancientGaelic origin, administered by the Gaelic Athletic Association. The game hasprehistoric origins, has been played for over 3,000 years,^[1] and is thought to be the world's fastest field team game in terms of game play.^[1][2][3] One of Ireland's native Gaelic games, it shares a number of features with Gaelic football, such as the field and goals, number of players, and muchterminology. There is a similar game for women called camogie(camógaíocht). It shares a common Gaelic root with the sport of shinty(camanachd) which is played predominantly in Scotland.

The object of the game is for players to use a wooden stick called a hurley (in Irish a camán, pronounced /ˈkæmən/) to hit a small ball called a sliotar ( /ˈʃlɪtər/) between the opponents' goalposts either over the crossbar for one point, or under the crossbar into a net guarded by a goalkeeper for one goal, which is equivalent to three points. The sliotar can be caught in the hand and carried for not more than four steps, struck in the air, or struck on the ground with the hurley. It can be kicked or slapped with an open hand (the hand pass) for short-range passing. A player who wants to carry the ball for more than four steps has to bounce or balance the sliotar on the end of the stick and the ball can only be handled twice while in his possession.

Baiting people is allowed although body-checking or shoulder-charging is illegal. No protective padding is worn by players. A plastic protective helmet with faceguard is mandatory for all age groups, including senior level, as of 2010. The game has been described as "a bastion of humility", with player names absent from jerseys and a player's number decided by his position on the field.^[1]

Hurling is played throughout the world, and is popular among members of the Irish diaspora in North America, Europe, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa andArgentina. In many parts of Ireland, it is a fixture of life.^[1] It has featured regularly in art forms such as film and literature. In 2007, Forbes magazine described the media attention and population multiplication of Thurles town ahead of one of the game's annual provincial hurling finals as being "the rough equivalent of 30 million Americans watching a regionallacrosse game".^[1] U.S. soldiers have also expressed their love of the game's warrior ethos.^[4][5]

Marian Price Britain's Tortured Political Guineapig

#freemarianprice



According to the latest update on Marian Price's health, she has yet another lung infection with the doctors forced to stop some of the treatment for her arthritis, which is steadily deterioriating. She was receiving highly toxic medication and her immune system is so damaged that one infection is following the other. Marian is also on steroid injections. Marian is in considerable pain, nurses are applying gel to her knees and legs to give her some relief.

The lack of exercise while in solitary confinement, made a very bad situation more acute. Marian is also receiving medication for anaemia. Doctors are concerned that her overall medical condition is deteriorating rapidly. Marian has also recently been diagnosed with a heart condition, something she certainly did not have before her internment in May 2011.The serious 
deterioration in her health, is a direct consequence of serious neglect and isolation over such a lengthy period. Marian's doctors are also trying to treat psychological problems as a result of more than 6 months forced feeding prior to her solitary confinement. It is doubtful Marian will ever fully recover from this vicious and vindictive ordeal at the hands of the British in Occupied Ireland.

Secret courts are to be introduced in Britain, as per the details of a justice and security bill to be introduced in October in the House of Lords, a direct threat to fundamental legal liberties, drawing a veil over state torture and what is essentially political internment in Britain. What you need to know about the expansion of trials behind closed courtroom doors can be found at the following link; Secret courts: the Essential guide

The Guineapigs a book by John McGuffin (1974, 1981) describes how fourteen Irish political prisoners, on whom the British Army experimented with sensory deprivation torture in 1971, with the introduction of internment at that time. These 'techniques' outlawed, following Britain's conviction at the International Court of Human Rights at Strasbourg, were subsequently exported and used by Britain's allies throughout the world, in what has now become known as rendition.The book sold out and was then taken off the market following pressure from the British Government.

In Ireland with the introduction of internment in 1971, there was deliberate and careful use of modern torture techniques, not simply to get information but to perfect the system of Sensory Deprivation for use against civilians. The author, an ex-internee himself spent two years researching the book following his release from Crumlin Road jail where he had been held without charge or trial. He was able to name the torturers and those responsible for this one of many sordid episodes in British Imperial history. No members of the British Army or the Royal Ulster Constabulary were ever been convicted of torture or brutality to the internees.

Selective internment in British Occupied Ireland is again being used to experiment on Irish political guineapigs by the British, to experiment for new Secret Courts and Britain's latest form of Gitmo in waiting for its non compliant commoners. There are currently several political internees of political conscience in Occupied Ireland, the most well known despite considerable censorship is Marian Price. In May 2011, Marian Price was arrested after she held up a piece of paper on a windy day, at a traditional Easter commemoration from which a masked man read. She was taken to Maghaberry high security prison (an all-male prison) and was placed in solitary confinement, where Marian was accused of, ‘encouraging support for an illegal organisation’. Marian has now been in prison for 16 months, during which time neither her lawyers, or Marian Price have been allowed to see any of Britains ‘alleged’ evidence. Having been previously force fed 400 times by the British in an English prison and in considerable, ill health, distress with extreme pain as a result, she was taken ;

• She has been kept in solitary confinement in a ‘male’ high security prison
• She is effectively interned without a trial, sentence, or release date.
• She has not been given any timescale for any investigation.
• She has not been allowed to see the evidence that the state claims to have
• Her release has been ordered on two occasions by judges. However, on both occasions the secretary of state has overruled those decisions.
• The secretary of state claims he has ‘revoked Marian’s license’. This is despite Marian never being released on license. She was given a Royal Pardon.
• Marian’s Royal Pardon has ‘gone missing’ from the home office (the only time in history). The secretary of state has taken the view that unless a paper copy can be located – it must be assumed that she does not have one.
• Despite no ‘license’ existing for her release from prison in 1980, it is the non-existent license that is being used to keep her in prison.
• She can only be released by Theresa Villiers the current Secretary of State responsible.

The charges against Marian were thrown out of court for lack of evidence by a Judge, the last time she appeared and now the very same charges have been re-instated against Marian again ! 

Chapter 4 from "The Guineapigs"

The Experiment

'I hear music and there's no one there.'

This is an account of the next eight days. It is taken from the victims' own words, in their statements to the Association for Legal Justice and from private interviews. First Joe Clarke, then aged 19, single, motor mechanic:

After being hooded I was led to the helicopter and I was thrown bodily into the helicopter. During this exercise my hands and wrists were hurt due to the others handcuffed to me not being pushed equally. (Before being led off to the helicopter, I understand that one of the hooded men, now known to be F. McGuigan, collapsed when the hood was first applied.) On being put into the copter, the handcuffs were removed and were applied to the back of the hood to tighten it around the head. The helicopter took off and a journey which I would estimate to have taken about an hour began. The helicopter than landed at a destination unknown to me and we were taken from the copter and led into a building and eventually into a room where I was made to stand in a search position against a wall. My position was the same as for other men – fully stretched, hands as far apart as humanly possible and feet as far from the wall as possible. Back rigid and head held up. Not allowed to relax any of the joints at all. If any relaxation of limbs – arms, elbow joints, legs, knee joints – someone came along and grabbed the limb in a rough manner and put it back into position again. After being against the wall for a few hours. I was taken away and brought, I was told, to a doctor. Sometime during this period I was taken out of this room, put into a helicopter and flown away. I was always handcuffed and hooded. When the 'copter landed I was put into a lorry, driven a short distance, transferred to a jeep, five-minute journey, put into another 'copter, taken for half-hour journey. End of journey put into a police van, driven short distance, five-ten minutes, beaten about the face and body, transferred to other vehicle. Holding my face, asked why, said that I did not want to be beaten again. Assured that I wouldn't be. Brought into a building, hood removed, shown detention form. Hood replaced, return journey as before
The build-up to this collapse was frequent numbing of the hands which when it happened I closed my fist only to find that my hands were beaten against the wall until I opened my fingers again and put my hands back into position. On the other occasion I tried to rest by leaning my head against the wall but the response to this was my head was 'banged' on the wall and shaken about until I resumed my position. All the time there was the constant whirring noise like a helicopter blades going around. From the sound of this noise I would say that it was played into the room where I was because on the occasions that I was taken from this room even outside the door of the room the noise was noticeably vague almost to be inaudible.
As I have said, I collapsed completely after that long period of time. I was brought round and carried out into the main room again and made resume my position as before against the wall.
There then followed a series of collapses – I could not say how many times I collapsed. Initially my hands and legs were beaten whenever this happened and the insides of my feet were kicked until my ankles were swollen to almost twice their normal size. After a number of these collapsings I was then made sit on the floor, with my knees up to my chest, my head between my knees and my arms folded around my knees. In this position I was swayed backwards and forwards in order I presume to bring my circulation back. Whenever this was done I was put against the wall again in the original position. The noise was insistent, driving mental resistance to its utmost. I thought that I was going mad. This noise was the only noise one heard save the groans of the other people lined up against the wall.
All the time that I was against this wall I got bread and water once and water alone on two other occasions. This was fed to me by the hood being lifted to my nose and bread and water was fed into my mouth in this way. I should emphasize that I was fed, I did not feed myself. The cup of water was put to my mouth and the bread was put into my mouth.
I cannot possibly estimate for what duration I was against this wall and underwent the collapsing experiences and physical torture against this wall, but I would estimate that it must have been at least two full days and nights. During all of the time no sleep was permitted. At the end of the period I must say that I was extremely fatigued both physically and mentally. I was certainly verging on complete mental exhaustion, suffering delusions which were of nightmarish nature.
I was taken out of this room – into another room where my hood was removed and I found myself confronted by two plain-clothes RUC SB men, one of whom was standing beside a table and the other was seated behind it. I was told by these men that I had asked to see them. I do not recollect ever having done so. I told them I did not ask for anyone. They then began to interrogate me. These men did not introduce themselves to me, so I do not know who they were. The hood was removed during this entire interview. These men interrogated me for a couple of hours. I should say that at the start of this interview I imagined that I was talking to my brother. At the end of this interview the hood was put back on again and I was put back into the other room and put against the wall. I asked where I was but I was told that I could not be told.
As I was against the wall this time I was given a beating: kicked about the legs, a knee was stuck in the base of my spine and the hood was jerked back tight on my face, hurting my neck. I collapsed at the end of this beating. I was also punched in the ribs and in the stomach, as well as being nipped. I was brought round after collapsing and put up against the wall again. The nipping and punching on the arms and ribs commenced. At that I shouted Fuck off', and punched one of my assailants. I was then grabbed by a number of people and I was punched, kicked and kneed all over the body, stomach, ribs and back of my head. The hood was pulled tightly around my neck, nearly suffocating me. I was then put back against the wall. After a short time against it I collapsed. I do not know for how long I was out. The next thing that I clearly remember was sitting in this small room with the same two men as before, who again told me that I sent for them. The hood was taken off for this interview as well. This interview lasted only a very short time, a matter of minutes. I was re-hooded and taken out again into another room where I was beaten continuously for a long number of hours. During the beating I was asked questions concerning the IRA, naming various people, and they also asked me about arms dumps. During all of this time I was standing. Due to the beating – mostly about the body and head, not face – I fell unconscious. When I awakened I was lying on a floor and as I was waking I was being punched. During this period of unconsciousness I had a dream where a friend of mine – my fiancee's brother – bought a scrap-yard. Whenever I awoke and found myself being beaten I began to struggle – I kicked one person and punched another. I was then overcome – my hands were put behind my back and I was handcuffed in this position. There was an attempt to handcuff my ankles. I was then carried down a flight of stairs into a further interrogation – by a different person than previously. The hood was taken off. He told me that I had sent for him. I said that I did not but that I had asked for a priest. He told me that I would get no priest there. After a few questions I was re-hooded and led outside and into another room where I was made, hands still handcuffed behind my back, stand facing a wall with the crown of my head leaning against the wall. As I stood there my arms were pulled further back causing my wrists to be cut and torn. I was left alone in this room un-hooded for a few hours. This same SB Branch man came back in but was very gentle in the course of questioning. He would have questioned me for two to three hours. He then left me again alone in the room – this time for about six hours. He returned when it was morning and told me that I was going back in for a few hours. I asked him where and he said, 'to the jail'. He brought me into a washroom and helped me to shave and have a general clean-up. I was then brought to a doctor. I complained to him of dizziness and pain in my right knee. He bandaged it and gave me an examination. Then I was photographed in the nude both front and rear. I was given my clothes back when I got back to the room. I changed and, after about an hour, I was brought now re-hooded to a Land-Rover and then after a short journey of five to ten minutes was put into a 'copter. After about an hour's flying journey we landed. Taken out. I know now that I was landed at the back of the prison (Girdwood). Marched through a hole in a wall. Across a football pitch and then put into a jeep. Driven to a gate – transferred into another police jeep and driven to the prison reception. I asked in the prison reception, where I was weighed etc., what day it was and he told me Tuesday. I said that it couldn't be since I was in Girdwood on Tuesday but he told me that that was a week ago. After going through the formalities of reception I was put into a cell in the basement where I was kept until the following morning when I was transferred to C wing amongst the other detainees. Whilst in the basement I was given a meal – the first substantial food I received in over a week.[1]

It is worth noting that of the twelve men only Clarke physically resisted. After days of ill-treatment and goaded beyond control, he reacted with an attempt, albeit futile, to strike out at his captors and tormentors. Dr. Pearse O'Malley of the Mater Hospital, Belfast, who examined two of the 'guineapigs' while they were recovering in Crumlin jail from their ordeal, has explained[2] how during the intensive sensory deprivation, as the disorientation is prolonged, aggression is likely to manifest itself. In the case of Joe Clarke this took the form of trying to retaliate, but in the case of at least two other men the agression became inverted and they even attempted suicide, by throwing themselves head first at the water-pipes.

Another account of the eight days of fear and pain was given by Pat Shivers. Having had virtually no sleep for two nights at Magilligan, at 4.45 a.m. along with McClean, Montgomery and Donnelly he was taken from the hut. His account goes on:

Plain-clothes men beside us. Four blue bags produced and put over our heads. Short of breath because of bag. Then released from handcuffs which connected one to the others and hands handcuffed in front individually. Then run across field to 'copter. Landed, did not know where. Lorry backed up to 'copter. Taken out and thrown into back of lorry, like a sack of potatoes. Lorry smelt of cow dung. Driven in lorry for about 100 yards. Pulled out of lorry (bag still over head) marched into some sort of building. Stripped naked, examined by doctor. Bag still over head. Put lying on bed and examined. Army overalls (I later discovered) put on me, taken into room. Noise like compressed-air engine in room. Very loud, deafening.
Hands put against wall. Legs spread apart. Head pulled up by bag and backside pushed in. Stayed there for about four hours. Could no longer hold up arms. Fell down. Arms put up again. Hands hammered until circulation restored. This happened continually for twelve or fourteen hours, until I eventually collapsed. Thinking how that Paisley had seized power in some way and that I would be executed or tortured to death. Started to pray very hard. Mouth dried up. Couldn't get moisture in mouth. Pulse taken. Thought of a youngster who had died at six months old, started to pray that God would give me strength that I would not go insane. Fell down several times more. Slapped back up again. This must have gone on for two or three days; I lost track of time. No sleep. No food. Knew I had gone unconscious several times, but did not know for how long. One time I thought, or imagined, I had died. Could not see youngster's face but felt reconciled to death. Felt happy.
During this time no one word spoken at all. No words had been spoken since I left Magilligan. Bag still over my head. I did not speak – just prayed out loud. Noise all the time. After collapsing on final occasion, I felt somebody working my body up and down as if to revive me and restore circulation. Seemed to rise again and go against wall again, put my hands up.
I was dragged into a room by the bag over my head, and a voice in my ear asked me if I had anything to say. These were the first words since I left Magilligan – I reckoned about two or three days previous. Hands pushed against the wall until I collapsed again. Fell with face against wall. Fell against pipes at floor level. Pulled up again and threw face against wall until by body sore. Then arms out again, head well back and something like a ruler stuck into my back to force it straight.
Shoes slipped on at this stage. Then taken out and thrown into back of lorry. Half carried, half pulled out again. Heard noise of helicopter. Boarded again. Did not know how long helicopter stayed in the air. Can't recall. Could hear someone moaning beside me. Taken off helicopter into back of lorry. Very roughly handled.
Taken out of lorry by two or three men. Hunched and made to run over something like corrugated iron. Head beaten against wall. Brought into building. Sat in chair. Bag taken off head. First thing I saw was RUC officer – Head Constable, I thought from two stars on shoulder. Might be able to recognize him again, seemed to be plain-clothes secretary sitting behind him. Looked horrified when he saw me. Scum over my lips from lack of water and of thirst. Must have looked terrible. Read out paper. I know I looked terrible. Later found out it was a detention document. I tried to speak. Could only manage to whisper. 'Why did you do this to me?' Man behind me holding bag, pulled my hair back, said, 'Speak up. Can't hear you. I can't hear you,' I reached over for document to look at it. Eyes blurred, could not read it properly. Taken from me by man behind. Shoved it in my breast pocket. Bag pulled over my head again. I was pulled out at running pace. Run about fifty yards. Thrown into back of lorry again. Seemed to be police or military in the back. All punching me in neck and knee-caps. I could see what appeared to be Army or police boots by toe-caps. Got a heavy crack at side of face. Passed out.
When I came to I was in the helicopter again, heading I knew not where. Lorry backed up again. Taken into noisy room. Same room where I had been before. Same treatment. Hands up – feet apart. Getting weaker. Did not feel hungry now but had nothing to eat for many days. I had lost count of days. Hands hammered until blood came back again. Collapsed. Hands taken up loosely as I lay on the floor, let drop again to see if I was out.
Sat on backside in straight position with protruding pipe at floor level cutting into base of spine. Arms, legs and knees now numb and stiff.
Taken into room. Bag taken off head for second time. Detective of Special Branch there before me, with a cup of water sitting on the desk. Men who had taken bag off my head slipped out the door behind me. My voice was nearly gone. Told me to take a drink of water. I drank a mouthful – my first in about four or five days.
Started asking questions. Could not answer. No voice and half hysterical. My lips sticking together with scum. He got angry and told me to speak up. Began asking questions about IRA activity and arms dumps around Toome. I did not know what he was talking about. I had no knowledge of anything. After about half an hour he said, 'I am going to send you in there again,' which he did.
By this time I was at the end of my tether, my whole body, my arms, legs started to tremble uncontrollably. I passed out again. After this, the doctor wrapped me up in blankets. Carried me out to what appeared to be a small surgery. I lay there shivering and shaking. Took my pulse. Felt behind my ankles., Got excited, took some blood pressure twice by tourniquet method (belt around arm inflated with air). Put something in my mouth, I thought it was a drug and spat it out. The second time he said, 'Keep that in your mouth as I am only taking your temperature. He spoke with an English accent. Bag still half over my head. Could not see him. Now gave me mug of hot liquid. They held my mouth and forced it in. Taken into another room. Put lying on floor. Lay there. Started to sweat heavily. Dungarrees became sticky. I could not sleep. My body was sore all over. Bag still over my head. I lay there for a long while. Can't recall. Then taken out. Marched around the room a few times and up a hallway. Taken into interrogation office, I discovered later.
A different Special Branch man interrogated me. Asking me about Civil Rights, Roddy McCorley Memorial Fund, Credit Union and my views about politics. Asked me who I voted for in the last Stormont election. Insisted I was connected with one of two IRA groups. Taken out again. Bag over my head and put into a cell. Sat there on ground. No furniture, no blankets. New appearance. Half slept, shivered from cold for some hours, can't recall exactly.
Detective came in again. Put bag over my head. Interrogated again. Some questions, my religion, took ages of all my children. My wife's name and address, where she was born, where I was born etc. Name and address of all my friends. Offered me a cigarette, I took it.
Put back into tell with mattress on the floor. Lay there for a while, taken out again and interrogated. Lost count of these interrogations. Perhaps four or five times. Same questions. According to Branch men, all my friends were in the IRA. At last interrogation, Branch man turned very nice. I told him I was going to see my own doctor because I had no faith in the doctor who would put me through all this agony. I thought at that time I was a physical wreck. Told me I could stay in cell with no bag on me, provided I lay with my head turned against wall – possibly so that I would not identify men who put bag over my when when they came again.
They offered me stew – meat and potatoes, which I refused. Asked me if I had a bad stomach. Then I was brought hot coffee which I took. One piece of bread and marmalade – which I took. Then he told me I would get a shave and clean up in the morning. I was going to Belfast prison which I did not mind. Could not sleep well. In the morning I was taken into a room. Got shaved, feet washed. Chalk marks washed off back of my hands. My feet and hands had been numbered when I was against wall. Hands. feet and back of dungarees had been marked. They seemed to have been changing these marks from time to time. Saw number four on back of hands. I think the soles of my feet were marked similarly. Now washed off. Shaved myself.
Taken out and into cell. Clothes brought in for my identification. Taken out and then brought in again. Put them on. Took belt off me. My trousers would not stay up as they used to without the belt. Knew then I had lost weight.
I was told to walk up and down to get blood circulating in my body. I was very weak. Detective came in again and put bag over my head. Taken to see doctor and helper, told me to strip. Given full examination. Weighed me. To my amazement I weighed only 115 lb. I knew I was 128 lb. when I was arrested.
Went to put my clothes on. Detective said I had to go through another procedure. Took me naked into another room with a photographer with the detective standing beside me. Told me to turn around. Picture taken again. Clothes put on. Back to cell.
Bag over my head again. Lorry. 'Copter. Over an hour in the helicopter. Taken into police jeep. Taken through hole in wall. Taken to reception, weighed again. Doctor saw me that night. I asked what day it was. Tuesday. I had been eight days in custody.[3]

It should be pointed out that, while some of the twelve 'guineapigs' were in the IRA, Shivers was not and never had been, a fact which even the local SB men in Toome, his hometown, recognized. On his eventual release, the local sergeant told him that he had no idea why he had been arrested in the first place.

Another completely innocent man, and one of the most articulate arrested, was Paddy Joe McClean, a remedial school teacher from Beragh, County Tyrone. McClean's was the first account of the SD experiment smuggled out to the ALJ. In it he told how at 4.45 a.m. on Wednesday 11 August

a hood was pulled over my head and I was handcuffed and subjected to verbal and personal abuse, which included the threat of being dropped from a helicopter which was in the air, being kicked and struck about the body with batons on the way.
After what seemed about one hour in the helicopter I was thrown from it and kicked and batoned into what I took to be a lorry. The lorry was driven only a couple of hundred yards to a building. On arriving there I was given a thorough examination by a doctor. After this all my clothes were taken from me and I was given a boilersuit to wear which had no buttons and which was several sizes too big for me.
During all this time the hood was still over my head and the handcuffs were removed only at the time of the 'medical examination'.
I was then taken into what I can only guess was another room and was made to stand with my feet wide apart and my hands pressed against a wall. During all this time I could hear a low droning noise, which sounded to me like an electric saw or something of that nature. This continued for what I can only describe as an indefinite period of time. I stood there, arms against the wall, feet wide apart. My arms, legs, back and head began to ache. I perspired freely, the noise and the heat were terrible. My brain seemed ready to burst. What was going to happen to me? Was I alone? Are they coming to kill me? I wished to God they would, to end it. My circulation had stopped. I flexed my arms to start the blood moving. They struck me several times on the hands, ribs, kidneys and my knee-caps were kicked. My hood-covered head was banged against the wall.
As I have said this particular method of torture lasted for an indefinite period, but having consulted other men who suffered the same experiences I believe the period to have been about two days and nights.
During this time certain periods are blank – fatigue, mental and physical, overwhelmed me. I collapsed several times, only to be beaten and pulled to my feet again and once more pushed, spreadeagled against the wall. Food, water and the opportunity to relieve my bowels were denied me. I collapsed again.
I came to in what I believed to be Crumlin Road jail, having been pushed into a chair. The hood was removed and I was handed what I was told was a detention form. I was told to read it. My eyes burnt and were filled with pain; they would not focus and I couldn't read the form. I was thanking God that my ordeal was over. No more pain, now I could sleep. But no! The hood was pulled over my bursting head. I was roughly jerked to my feet and half pulled, half kicked and beaten for about 400 yards. This was the worst and most sustained beating to date. Fists, boots and batons crashed into my numbed body. someone else's – not mine. Hands behind my back, handcuffs biting into my wrists. Pain! Someone pulling and jerking my arms. Thrown headlong into a vehicle – soft seats, beating continued, boots, batons, fists. Then the noise, that dreaded helicopter again. Dragged out of the vehicle by the hair, thrown onto the floor of the helicopter. Blacked out.
Conscious again. Hands manacled in front of me. Pushed against a wall, legs wide apart. I dug my fingernails into the wall. Pain all over me.
Now that I can relax and think about it I can't find words to describe that pain. Without attempting to be melodramatic I think I can best describe it by saying I was enveloped in stretching. cramping pain.
My mind began to drift. I tried to sing to myself. I was going mad. I must already be mad to stick this.
Still standing rigid against the wall someone takes my pulse, sounds my bruised chest over my heart. Must be a doctor.
Dragged along. Pushed into a chair. hood pulled off. Screaming, blinding light, questions fast and hard, couldn't speak. 'Spell your name.' Tried to find the letters, swimming in my brain – couldn't spell my name. I must be insane. More questions – blows, hair pulled. Still can't see well. A table – three men at it – all writing – blinding light.
I was told I would be given half an hour to rest and think. Then I would be asked more questions and if I didn't answer them I would be taken back to the music room' – the room with the noise – pain.
Sleep – deep, black sleep. Pulled to my feet. Back to the questions again. would not give answers. Back to 'music room.
Feet wide apart, hands handcuffed – against the wall. Droning noise fills my head. By this time I could feel no pain. Just numb. Dragged away from the wall, legs buckled under me, fell to the floor. Dragged by the ankles up and down shallow steps. Didn't care – past feeling pain. Didn't have a body.
From now on it was interrogation – back to the 'music room' – some sleep. Then the first taste of water in – how many days? Some dry bread and more water.
We were given our first 'meal'. This consisted of a cup of watery stew which I had to eat using my fingers as utensils. The hood was lifted just enough to leave my mouth free. We were then allowed to the toilet for the first time since we arrived.
Punishment now eased off. Interrogation continued. Strict questioning – no beatings – just threats and personal insults. Food of a more substantial nature, still badly cooked and served, but at least it was regular.
The hood was taken off and I was allowed my first wash.
Now I was allowed to sleep, but the room was so cold that sleep was hard to come by. The fear of more beatings was still with me. I was terribly alone! They gave me one blanket – to keep me warm, they said.
I was then told it was 'all over' and that I was going to be interned in Crumlin Road jail. I didn't believe them – another trick, I thought. Still uneasy – still worried – still alone.
Hood still over my head, but treated better now. No questions, no beatings.
Journey to Crumlin Road jail by lorry, helicopter and Land Rover. I was still sane, still alive – thank God![4]

In many ways McClean is the most 'interesting' of the 'guineapigs' in that he was the one man who was able to figure out what was really going on and acted accordingly. After hours at the wall he decided on a policy of total non-cooperation. This meant going limp and collapsing. It also meant a lot of beatings as he was lifted against the wall, collapsed and was lifted again in a seemingly endless cycle. But, as McClean later said, 'we were getting beatings all the time anyway'. Eventually McClean was left alone on the floor for a time, only being hauled up to his feet when being dragged off to yet another interrogation. Later, however, he was hung by handcuffs on a hook on the wall on three occasions. His questioning was entirely political rather than military, and confirmed that the interrogators knew that he wasn't a member of either wing of the IRA. McClean was able to give details of his interrogators, who informed him that he was 'somewhere on the continent'. One of them even told him his name, doubtless false, and had a Ballymena accent, while another claimed to have come from Fivemiletown, though, McClean says, he had no local geographical knowledge.
McClean claims that his main mistake was to tell his interrogators that he knew what they were up to. This greatly annoyed them and made things worse for him in the short run. 'It is much better to adopt a policy of total non-cooperation and say nothing at all,' he says. 'Whether you are innocent, as I was, or guilty, it makes no difference. They weren't concerned on whether we were guilty or not – indeed they knew that some of us were completely innocent – they were concerned with our reactions to the extreme stress of Sensory Deprivation...[5]

Micky Donnelly, aged 22, a bricklayer from Derry, gave, his story also on his arrival at Crumlin:

We were taken out at 4.00 a.m. into another hut where we were given sausages and beans which nobody could eat. We were then put back into the hut. After about an hour we were taken out, handcuffed and brought into another room. Two of us were handcuffed together. I complained to an RUC constable called Hood that the handcuffs were too tight, so he promptly took them off and put them on even tighter. I asked him if we were going to Rathlin Island, and he jeered back, 'Where you are going is worse than Rathlin.' Then the black hood was put over our heads. This hood was made double, i.e. two layers of cloth all around. There was no mouthpiece or sights in it. It was impossible to breathe through it, one had to suck air from below. It was reasonably loose on the shoulders. Initially it was a horrific sensation. I was at this time handcuffed myself – my two hands together. I was then led out and put into a helicopter. I was walked into the step up to the helicopter, banging my legs. From this point onwards I have no clue where I was until this hood was removed on the afternoon of Tuesday. 17th August.

Wednesday morning, 11 August, until Tuesday evening, 17 August:

During all this time I did not know where I was. I was led to believe by the Special Branch that I was in England. On being removed from Magilligan I would estimate that the helicopter journey lasted half an hour at the end of which journey I was taken out and transferred to a lorry. During this first helicopter ride there was no threatening or abuse. After a short lorry ride during which I was made to lie face downwards in the back with other men thrown on top of me, I was dragged in and out of this lorry and in the course of this dragging my arms, legs, and body and head were being banged against the lorry. On getting out of the lorry after a short journey I was led into a building. In this building the hood was held tight around my neck. All my clothes were removed and I was given a medical examination by a person whom I presume to be a doctor and who spoke with an English accent. After this medical I was given an Army overall to wear. It was too short for me. This was the only clothing that I had to wear until my own clothing was returned to me, shortly before I left on my last helicopter ride which took me. as I now know, eventually to Crumlin Road prison.
After being given the overall I was taken outside the room and along a corridor into another room and made stand against the wall as one is made to do for frisking, only I was made to stretch my legs and arms as far apart as I could get them. My feet also had to be as far from the wall as possible.
I was made remain in this position for at least two and at most four days with the hood on. I lost all track of time, but there is no doubt that I remained in this position for days. If I did not keep my head straight I was hit with a fist on the small of the back to make me straighten up. If I did not keep my back rigid I was 'thumped' again in the small of the back. On occasions, not very often, I was struck on the genitals with a hard object and on other occasions a similar hard object was thrust into my arms. During the duration of this stance, to my knowledge I went unconscious at least four times. I do not know for how long I was out. On numerous occasions I fell flat from fatigue and physical exhaustion, due to my hands and arms becoming numb, painful and powerless. When this occurred I was lifted and feeling was beaten back into my arms and hands and I was put back into my original position As the duration of my stance against this wall grew longer, the collapsing and falling became more frequent, until eventually I must have been falling once every twenty minutes to thirty minutes. During all of this time against the wall I was fed bread and water, i.e., one slice of hard dry bread and half a cupful of water. This was taken by means of the hood being lifted up to the level of just above the mouth. This was fed to us by one of our captors. I would have been fed this on about six occasions in all.
A further factor which played particularly on the mind was the constant presence of a high-pitched hissing sound which seemed to have been 'piped' into the place where we were. After a period this really played on the mind and led eventually to a kind of illusion where I thought I heard someone singing familiar tunes. At times I sang along with them. I remember in particular singing 'Henry Joy'. Outside of this noise nothing else could be heard, except the groans and squeals of other men, I presume, who were undergoing some sort of physical anguish or mortal torture.
At the end of this period against the wall I was then taken away from the wall and asked if I would like to see a policeman. I replied that I did. I was taken away and I presume into another room where a voice said 'You wanted to see me? You asked to see me?' I said that I did and that I wanted to know why I was there. At this time the hood was held tightly against my neck by someone behind me. I also asked for my wife to be contacted. In reply to this they told me that I'd see nobody and that I'd never see her again. Having spoken to this man who was alleged to be an RUC man, I was let out, my shoes put on and I was thrown into a lorry. I was manhandled, thumped and punched all the way to the lorry and in it. I had been handcuffed again before being taken out. In the lorry other people were thrown on top of me. A hand was put over my mouth, the result being that I could not breathe and so I yelled. In reply to my yell, I was beaten about the head and face with what I presume to be fists. The next I knew was being put into a helicopter and taken away. I would have been half an hour at most in the 'copter. In the 'copter I overheard voices talking about 'throw him out'. Before I went into the 'copter I was asked if I could swim.
At any rate the 'copter landed again and I was removed and manhandled into a van. I was thrown onto the floor of this van. Whilst lying on the floor of this van the hood was pulled tightly around my neck and someone stood heavily on my handcuffed hands. After this I felt my wrists bleeding. After this journey in the van I was taken into a room where the hood was lifted up sufficient for a detention form to be thrust in front of my face by an RUC sergeant whom I had seen before at Magilligan before the hood was put on. After being shown this, the hood was put back on again and I was removed again and put back into the same van, I think, out of which I was taken and the van moved off again. During this van journey I was severely beaten with fists with concentration on my stomach and kidneys, chest and ribs. I was beaten unconscious. When I came round I was being dragged out of the van and along the ground. I was being dragged by the handcuffs.I was then put back into the helicopter. I was verging on the unconscious whilst in the helicopter and 1 cannot remember clearly anything about this trip in the 'copter. When the helicopter landed I was taken from it and put into a lorry, only this time I was thrown in on top of someone else. After this journey in the lorry which appeared short – a few minutes – I was put back into the room where the hissing noise was and where I was the long period prostrate against the wall. My shoes were again dragged off me. I was just then left to stand as before against the wall and the collapsing continued as before. At this stage I was fairly far gone and so I cannot recollect precisely how long I was against the wall on this occasion but I would say that it was for a good number of hours – perhaps twelve. At the end of this period I was again asked if I wished to speak to a policeman; I said I did, and so I was after a period of time brought to one, but all I asked him to do was to contact my wife. I was then led back against the wall again. By now I had lost all track of time, but the remainder of the time from now until I had the hood removed on Tuesday 17th, 1 was subjected to continuous interrogation by what I presume to be RUC Special Branch. In between interrogations I was put back against the wall and on other occasions I was just thrown into a room. I was suffering a great deal from the cold. I was so cold that I could not drink the water. In the course of the interrogations by the SB I was offered the odd cigarette. I was interrogated then at great length about the IRA both in Belfast and Derry. The interrogation was entirely concerning IRA activities and IRA men. I completely denied all knowledge of any complicity in any illegal activity. The interrogation was, on the whole, friendly. I was not beaten during it. The interrogation also covered a gamut extending from the influence of the RC Church in the troubles to Blaney, the Fianna Fáil TD [MP]. The Catholic Church, I was told, was responsible for the trouble. This interrogation would have extended over a period of a couple of days, at the end of which period I was again driven a short journey in a lorry and put into a helicopter and then the helicopter moved off. Before being taken on this journey I was washed up and shaved and photographed in the nude back and front. This last 'copter journey must have lasted at least one hour and at the end of the journey when the helicopter landed the hood was removed and I found myself in a lawn. I was marched through a hole in a wall past a football pitch and into what I now know to be Belfast prison. It was daylight and since it was my first time in daylight since Wednesday 11th, my eyes were dazzled and sore. Just before I left on this last 'copter journey I had got my clothes and my shoes back.
When I was first brought into the prison I did not know where I was and so I asked someone, I think a policeman, and he told me that I was in Salisbury jail. I then asked a warder where I was and he told me. He also told me what day it was – Tuesday 17 August. On Tuesday in the prison I was given something to eat but was kept locked up alone in the cell until the following morning. I was not interrogated during this time.[6]

In order to increase the men's sense of confusion and to increase their well-founded paranoia, most of them were told that they were 'in England', 'on the Continent', 'in the Hebrides' etc. Where in fact were they? We cannot be absolutely certain. The location of a torture centre is classified as an official secret by Her Britannic Majesty's Government. Neither the Compton Report nor the Parker Report reveal its location. Nonetheless, consensus of opinion points to Palace barracks, Holywood, a few miles outside Belfast. The Sunday Times Insight Team have stated this as a definite fact,[7] and it is true that the two later SD victims William Shannon and David Rodgers were almost certainly subjected to the treatment at Holywood. If this is so, however, the Army appear to have gone to some considerable lengths to have concealed the location from the victims, to the extent of flying around to kill time, since each trip to the centre appears to have taken about thirty minutes, while a direct helicopter trip from the landing stripe at the back of Crumlin jail to Palace barracks, Holywood should take no more than ten minutes at most.[8]
At any event, from the point of view of the British Army, this part of the operation was a 'success' – the men were really disorientated. Fear, hooding, the noise, cold, hunger, all led to trance-like states for all the men. Hallucinations began. One of the men described how he thought he was in a lighthouse, looking out to sea. Two sailors kept forcing him to look at the view. One of them kept 'standing at ease' and stamping on his left foot. (His left foot was in fact very swollen and several toe-nails had come off.) Finally he felt he couldn't stand it any more and turned on the sailor. Seizing his gun – a Colt 45, as used in all the best Westerns – he ran out of the lighthouse and up a mountain, pursued by hundreds of armed men. Reaching the top, he found he was trapped, and tried to commit suicide rather than fall into the sailors' hands again. He turned the gun onto his stomach and pulled the trigger. When he realized he wasn't dead he fired again. He felt that since he was dead, he must fall, so he collapsed. Awakening from the 'dream' he found himself being kicked awake as he lay on the floor. He was then lifted up and put against the wall. In his own words, 'I cried because I wasn't dead.'

Later, still up against the wall, he dreamt that he was at home and in bed. He could feel pain and the hood over his head was suffocating him. He couldn't reconcile the hood over his head with being at home, but finally puzzled it out, that the hood must be his blankets. He turned around and took the hood off – 'these aren't blankets', he said. He saw a huge Negro, dressed in a check shirt, a loose tie, grey flannels and baseball boots rushing at him. 'Sorry mister, I was dreaming,' he said, putting the hood back on and turning around to the wall again.
The same man is certain that he was four or five days and nights without sleep. 'I got a wee doze while diving to the floor,' he claimed, and 'I used to fall down so that they would kick me and get the circulation going again.'

Interrogation periods had to be prolonged at all cost. They generally occurred after he had collapsed, and he was dragged in. The longer he could prolong the conversation the better. The constant threat was 'back to the music room'. The bribe was 'a cigarette, a mattress and sleep'. Once he was offered a cigarette if he would tell his interrogators the names of any IRA men. He agreed, took the cigarette and managed to get three pulls on it before they took it out of his mouth and insisted that he fulfil his part of the 'bargain'. 'I stalled for almost a minute – it's not much, but even a minute out of the "music room" was worth it. Then I blurted out "Joe Cahill" and "Sean MacStiofain". "Get back in there, you cheeky bastard."'[9]
Most of the others 'heard' music at one time or another during the days of wall-standing. Mickey Montgomery 'heard' Sousa marches and an Italian tenor singing. P. J. McClean heard protest poems, hymns and the death service being declaimed.
Montgomery overhead one of the interrogators say, as he was being led back to the wall, 'Your man thinks he hears music,' and then laughter.[10] Another 'heard' ferocious sermons about hell fire in the distinctive ranting voice of Ian Paisley.
These were all probably audio-hallucinations – no two men heard the same sounds apart from the white noise, but it is also possible that tape recordings were used to confuse and add to the disorientation.[11]

Cold was also a factor used to weaken the men – an element that neither Compton nor Parker mentioned. All the men complained of cold – hardly surprising considering the barn-like structure of the holding room, with its concrete floor and the ill-fitting boilersuits which were their only garments, and, coupled with mental and physical exhaustion, the lack of warmth was certainly a factor contributing towards their collapse.

But nothing could last forever. Eventually, on the eighth day, as they have related, they were transferred back to Crumlin Road jail, In their exhausted state their chief emotion was that of overwhelming relief, They were not, then, to appreciate how serious the after-effects were to be, In Crumlin some spent the first two days in the prison hospital and some in the basement cells, where they were segregated from the rest of the detainees. There they met some of the men who, it was planned, were to be their successors, For while the twelve 'guineapigs' were going through their terrifying ordeal, a 'second eleven' was being carefully picked from among those detainees in Crumlin. Seven men – Sean Murphy, Billy Close, Angelo Morrelli, Dessie Crossan, Eamonn Kerr, Billy Reid and Peter Farran – were picked and removed to the basement.[12] They, and the rest of the detainees, believed that this was because they were going to be the subjects of criminal charges. In fact they were not. They were intended as part of a follow-up experiment. In the event, plans for this were scrapped.

The reasons for this are still an official secret, but some grounds can be discerned. Most important of all was the secret visit to Edward Heath. The visitor was none other than Cardinal Conway, Archbishop of Armagh.
Since the initial internment swoop of 9 August, wives and relatives had of course frantically been trying to locate their men. By 13 August they had all been either released or located at Crumlin 'all or on Board HMS Maidstone – all, that is, except for the twelve 'guineapigs'. Officialdom was completely silent about their whereabouts. As frantic wives were fobbed off with one lie after another[13] and ran from one jail to another they were aided by various social workers, MPs and priests. One of the most tireless of the latter was Father Denis Faul of Dungannon. Even he, however, made little headway in his search for the missing twelve. Then, on 17 August, news came. The men had all turned up at last in Crumlin. What was more, despite strict security one of them had managed to smuggle a detailed message out, giving an account of what the twelve had been through. The account got to Father Faul. After one look at it he went to his Archbishop.
Conway had doubtless read the accounts of brutality in the initial forty-eight hours which had been smuggled out and had started to appear in the Irish News, Irish Times and the Tyrone Democrat (who printed a special eight-page supplement on 19 August on the brutality). What he read in the smuggled message from Crumlin added a new dimension. Assured by Father Faul of the correspondent's veracity, he took the next plane to London.
His meeting with Heath was, and is to this day, secret but, obviously, enough was said to worry the Prime Minister. He, Lord Carrington, Reggie Maudling and Brian Faulkner were the men who ultimately had to bear the responsibility for Army and police behaviour. Labour MPs, admittedly keener, most of them, on embarrasing the Tory government than in demanding justice, were clamouring for the recall of Parliament. Heath refused to accede to this – hard-working MPs must be entitled to their four months a year holidays, after all – but clearly something would have to be done. And so the wheels were put in motion for yet another face-saving operation. On 31 August 1971 Reggie Maudling announced that he was appointing a committee to investigate allegations 'of physical brutality' by the 'security forces' during the initial forty-eight-hour detention period. Specifically excluded was all mention of mental cruelty. The committee was to be chaired by Sir Edmund Compton.

They were not able to get away with this, however. On 17 October, as the committee was sitting, the Sunday Times at last published some of the statements of the 'guineapigs' with their allegations of SD torture. Along with the rest of the press the Sunday Times had been in possession of these papers for some weeks, having been given them by the Association for Legal Justice. They were, however, the first English newspaper to publish the allegations. Brian Faulkner immediately phoned Heath to state that the new charges were 'substantially without foundation', but to no avail. Carrington, Heath and Maudling had to see Harold Wilson and James Callaghan of the Labour Party the next day. Eighteen days later, Maudling wrote to Compton asking him slightly to expand his terms of reference. He could now include three further cases mention by the Sunday Times, Benard McGeary and Tony Rosato, both of whom had been released by then, and a third man – William Shannon.

TELLIN THE IRISH WORKING CLASS TO GOFUCK ITSELF

Link; http://www.indymedia.ie/article/102509

TELLIN THE IRISH WORKING CLASS TO GOFUCK ITSELF

Link; http://www.indymedia.ie/article/102509

The Playboy of the Western World

Christy. It’s Pegeen I’m seeking only, and what’d I care if you brought me a drift of chosen females, standing in their shifts itself, maybe, from this place to the Eastern World? J.M. Synge

The Playboy of the Western World A Comedy in Three Acts J.M. Synge First produced in 1907, this play sent shock waves through the dramatic world, pushing the limits of decency and stoking an already red-hot nationalistic fire. Though met with near instant rioting and controversy, it is now considered a masterpiece of poetic drama. Dialogue links; Act One     Act Two Act Three

Short all "Little People" Ireland

Gulliver's Travels of Ireland's Dean Swift 1726, is universally read and has been designated a satire, to a forerunner of the modern novel, to an inquiry into whether men are inherently corrupt or whether they become corrupted. Gulliver washed ashore after a shipwreck, found himself a prisoner of a race of tiny people, less than 6 inches tall, inhabitants of the island country of Lilliput.



After Roisin Shortall's departure yesterday from Government, with little or no support from her so called Labour colleagues, Roisin must wondering today, if she too is a prisoner of the island of Lilliput. Despite Ms Shortall's principled resignation, the Taoiseach Enda Kenny, his Labour Tanaiste Eamonn Gilmore and other so called former Labour comrades, all have leapt instead to the defence of super capitalist Health Minister Dr James Reilly or perhaps more accurately, to the defence of their luxurious ministerial salaries, from the little Irish taxpayers. Then of course the Fine Gael Minister has always made no secret of his hatred for the short all, little people of Lilliputian Ireland.

Perhaps then before his next video, he might consider the more diplomatic term Lilliputian rather than, "little people" for all the Irish plebs and gobshites who voted for him and his party. Perhaps Tanaiste Gilmour of (ahem) Labour might consider shifting his political rainbow from Labour to Lillputian at the next election or perhaps he will gamble once again on the irish psychosis of believing their own lies.

Strictly speaking Lilliputian entered many languages as an adjective, meaning "small and delicate" but that won't bother Gilmore, the former Newry republican colleague of Gerry Adams who is considering a brand of small cigar called Lilliput which might be an interesting addition to his image or to any of his Che look alike colleagues for  their photo op wardrobes.

There is also a series of collectable model of houses known as "Lilliput Lane" perhaps of some interest to any future FF/SF developments. The smallest light bulb fitting 5mm diameter in the Edison screw series, is also called the "Lilliput Edison screw" which could possibly be changed to the "Lilliput Gilmour screw."

In Dutch, the word Lilliputter is used for adults shorter than 1.30 meters, which will include most of the Irish electorate come next election, after the present term of the Labour austerity diet The Coalition of the two sects of Lilliputians in Government, were divided between those who crack open their soft-boiled eggs from the little end, and those who use the big end. Some say Rainbow Gilmour has always squeezed through some sticky induced cracks at both ends. That dear Lilliputter, leaves all short people like Roisin out in the Irish rain once again.

IRISH