Johnston Brown - Into the Dark: 30 Years in the RUC

This book is dedicated to my wife Rebecca and to my children, Lisa, Adam and Simon.

History repeats itself.

Thats one of the things wrong with history.

CLARENCE DARROW

US DEFENCE ATTORNEY 18571938

T he attack was so sudden, so unexpected and so brutal that I was not able to do anything about it. I had walked into it. I had failed to anticipate the danger signs. I would now pay the price for my lack of awareness.

Stationed in Newtownabbey, I had just under three years service in the Royal Ulster Constabulary, Northern Irelands former Police Service, and less than eight months in the Criminal Investigation Department ( CID ). Such sudden attacks upon us were commonplace: they were one of the many pitfalls of policing our violent society.

It was just before midnight when the attack occurred. In a split second, my assailant had lifted me clear off the ground and thrown me against the wall with all the strength he could muster. The blow to my head as I hit the wall was so violent that I was momentarily stunned. It also caused me to experience what happened next as if in slow motion. The pain was searing, almost unbearable, as blow after blow rained down upon me from my attackers fists and feet. He was a tall, well-built man some twenty years my senior. I attempted to ward off the blows, but to little or no effect.

I can recall exactly what happened as if it were yesterday. I would physically revisit the scene from time to time during my service in the Police. I also have a tendency, even today, to revisit it mentally, to dwell on it in spite of myself. The sudden and treacherous nature of the assault is something I will never forget.

Even though the room was dark, I was able to look into my assailants hate-filled eyes. I was so close to him that I could smell his foul breath and the stench of alcohol. I was aware of blood flowing from my nose. My mouth was filling with blood from internal cuts as my flesh was smashed against my teeth. I had bitten my tongue. I was terrified of losing consciousness as I felt myself slipping towards the floor.

My personal issue firearm, a Walther 9 mm pistol, was nestled snugly in my black serge shoulder holster, tucked into my left armpit. I had considered trying to get to my gun to use it in self-defence. That was exactly why I had been issued with the handgun in the first place: so that I would be able to produce it and use it as a means to extricate myself from such life-threatening situations as this.

I hung onto every word as my assailant screamed profanities at me. There was no mistaking the absolute venom in his speech. I then caught sight too of his accomplice, standing nearby keeping watch in case any other Police officer should come upon the scene. They were taking no chances: there were to be no witnesses to this assault. I was surprised to see my attackers accomplice panic and do all he could to bring the assault to an end.

He has had enough, he shouted to my assailant repeatedly.

Then it was over as suddenly as it had begun. They departed from the scene, leaving me sore and bloodied. I tried to stand but I couldnt. I had virtually no feeling in my legs due to the constant kicking and pummelling to which I had been subjected. I lay there on the ground and watched the perpetrators hasty retreat. Then the door slammed shut behind them.

After a short time, I was able to get to my feet. I walked unsteadily to the mens toilets next door. I had been lucky. As attacks go, it was not the worst that I would suffer in my 30 years as a Police officer in the RUC .

But this was different. This was bizarre. My assailant and his accomplice were not thugs from some street corner, they were Police officers. They were members of the Royal Ulster Constabulary, just as I was. Worse still, my assailant was a colleague of mine working alongside me in the CID at Newtownabbey RUC Station. (He has since died.) The scene of the attack was the parade room of the station itself. As for the date, it is indelibly printed in my brain. It was Friday, 13 December 1974.

Earlier that night I had arrested five suspected members of the outlawed Ulster Volunteer Force ( UVF ). They had been found to be in possession of two illegally-held loaded handguns. In any other Police Force in the United Kingdom, all right-thinking people would have viewed my actions as commendable.

But this was Northern Ireland at the height of a terrorist campaign and not all things were considered equal. In my naivety, I was to get a rude wake-up call. Soon after the arrests, I had witnessed blatant collusion between certain CID officers and the Monkstown UVF . I had told these officers what I thought of it: they had seen me move to redress the wrongs.

What did I expect, they were to ask me later. Well, I didnt expect to be criminally assaulted by fellow Police officers. After the attack, I expected some support from my authorities. None was forthcoming.

I had not endeared myself to the UVF . The punishment I received was meted out by members of the RUC on behalf of the local Monkstown UVF . I stood there in that toilet area next door to the cells, examining my face and the inside of my mouth in a small wooden-framed mirror on the wall. I watched with pain and sadness as the blood flowed from my injuries into the white washhand basin and mingled with the running water. My head was still spinning. I leaned over to splash cold, revitalising water over my face.

I will resign tomorrow, I thought.

Still unsteady on my feet, I held onto both sides of the washhand basin. The blood was flowing freely. I pulled some green paper towels from the dispenser on the wall to try to stem the flow. I felt alone, isolated, no longer knowing whom I could trust.

Slumped over the washhand basin, I couldnt help feeling sorry for myself. Wondering exactly what sort of Police Force I had joined. This was my first encounter with such people in the CID . I had already unintentionally made enemies within the RUC Special Branch, that I knew. But I had not expected to find men of this kind in the ranks of our CID .

As I stood there in the darkness in that little corner of Newtownabbey RUC Station, wondering where to go from there, I could not have known that I was merely scratching the surface of some very sinister elements within the RUC . I could never have imagined then anyway the extent and nature of the depths I was to discover during the years that followed. No-one could have imagined such things. For many, even today, they may defy belief. But everything I am about to relate actually happened to me.

T hroughout my life, people have often asked me why I chose a career in the Police. What, they wondered, kept me going in the face of all the dangers and the difficulties I faced, particularly towards the end of my service in the RUC ? To understand my outlook on life and what motivated me to join the Royal Ulster Constabulary in the first place, it is helpful perhaps to look back to my formative years and some of the key experiences of my childhood and youth. Apart from one uncle on my mothers side, there was no history of Police service in my family. For reasons that will very quickly become clear, I was driven by a burning desire to deal with the bullies in our society. To put the bad men in jail. It all seemed to me such a simple and straightforward thing to achieve. The very last thing I ever expected was to be obstructed by members of the institution to which I devoted almost 30 years of my life. I did not anticipate that some of the worst difficulties and dangers I would face were to come from within the very organisation of which I was part...