The Day I Met… Gerry Adams

He's the one in specs, paramilitary beret, no beard - an ice cream would just look silly.

(Fanfare.) It gives me great pleasure to present the next entry in the The Day I Met… competition. Here’s a taster:

I rushed through to the front to see two more extremely large “boys” wearing trench coats in a heat wave stood at the front with a third man. In trying to evacuate the premises, I nearly evacuated something else. The three at the front were close together. A shotgun with some fine buckshot might take all three out and then a run like buggery down the fields across the stream and don’t stop until I hit Larne and the boat to the mainland. It is amazing what goes through your mind when you believe you are about to be kidnapped!

The story continues below. This entry comes from… Actually I can’t tell you his name. (At least I think it’s a him.) Because he is keeping his true identity a secret. He writes about dodgy goings on in the police and the criminal justice system under the pseudynom Noble Cause Corruption. He’s a serving police officer in the UK, so I guess he might get into trouble were his anonymity to be breached.

So when I tell you that I don’t know who NCC is – it’s true. I really don’t. But I feel I do have an insight into his character after reading his story. Last Wednesday’s Telly Savalas story was funny with a whiff of danger. This one involves a much higher risk. It’s set in Northern Ireland where an imperfect peace is officially in progress – though not everyone seems to have read the ceasefire memo.

Aha - beard and no beret - now an ice cream cone looks statesmanlike, no?

The celeb in the title is Gerry Adams.  He’s been called various things in his time –  barman, prolific author, statesman, Grizzly Adams (because of the beard), peacemaker, murderer, apologist for murder, hero, terrorist, freedom fighter, the defendant, MP, TD (Irish MP), President of Sinn Fein, shooting victim, censorship victim/beneficiary, internee, IRA leader (which, farcically, he still denies), sellout (by the likes of The Pensive Quill) and tiocfaidh armani. So over to Noble Cause Corruption and his story of…

The Day I Met… Gerry Adams

As a serving police officer and Police Detective on the mainland [Britain] I have had some limited difficulties maintaining a degree of anonymity in respect of my employment, particularly as all my family are from the area around Warrenpoint, Newry and Rostrevor [in Northern Ireland]. I know from your blog that you are likely to be familiar with the notoriety of this region of one of the most beautiful parts of the world.

To further stick my neck out (identity wise) I am related to the, now deceased, Rostrevor farmer who donated some of his land to the Benedictine monks from that region who have subsequently built a monastery on the site. Apparently, so I have been told, this is the first monastery in Northern Ireland for 1000 years!

"Ladies & gentleman, appearing on the X-Factor tonight, Europe's latest boy band... The Monks!" What? Oh they're actually real Benedictine monks.

When the monastery was opened there were papal emissaries, high level dignitaries from the Church of Ireland, Church of England, local and regional government as well as most of the local village attending the function. It was widely reported in the press, all of which seems to have been delivered to my house for storage. When the party was over and everyone had gone home leaving the monks performing their monkly duties I was over speaking with my relative. It was about a week later.

My relative’s farm is quite remote but I have never had any problem during my time in the local village or surrounding area. I am aware of some of the local activists, with time served convictions, but they think I am employed as something other than what I actually do. I employ a well rehearsed cover story which I can back up if necessary. 

Imagine how I felt when, in the middle of one afternoon, I became aware of two very large “boys” outside the back door of the farm. I rushed through to the front to see two more extremely large “boys” wearing trench coats in a heat wave stood at the front with a third man. In trying to evacuate the premises, I nearly evacuated something else. The three at the front were close together. A shotgun with some fine buckshot might take all three out and then a run like buggery down the fields across the stream and don’t stop until I hit Larne and the boat to the mainland. It is amazing what goes through your mind when you believe you are about to be kidnapped!

I watched from behind my twitching curtain, trying to stabilise my twitching left leg, as one of them began walking towards the door and knocked; quite politely as well. My relative tentatively went to the door after first checking on me. Would the IRA check under the bed if they were coming for me?

Then I thought about it some more. They wouldn’t knock on the door in the middle of the afternoon if they were up to bad business, surely.

The next few minutes were surreal. My relative came into the room and told me that he had invited the visitors in and that he thought I should come and meet them. I asked him who they were and he said they were who I thought they were, but that I should come and see them anyway. Tentatively, I walked into his parlour and met Gerry Adams and his team.

He had come to congratulate my relative on his generosity and commitment to society due to his land donation to the monks and also to have a cup of tea and a couple of ham sandwiches and cake.

To be perfectly honest, it was a pleasant hour of general chit-chat or so before he left. He was not the man I expected him to be although I cannot say what I really expected. Two of his entourage, however, I would trust with a bargepole. ( I know that isn’t a valid analogy but you can put your own in!!).

So, Gerry and several other (probable) IRA men, unknown to them, met a serving police detective and had a bit of tea and cake, after which, I went and changed my underpants!

Hee hee. And thanks for sharing that last nugget of information. It’s true that Gerry Adams can be very charming indeed. He has written some good books too. But many of the other stories of encounters with him and his colleagues are… chilling.

The Holy Cross monastery in NCC’s story is apparently a lovely place. My Mum has been. So it was good to be able to enlighten her as to how the monks were helped to get started.

For anyone bridling at the use of the term mainland for Great Britain in relation to Ireland, I’m afraid that part of the deal with these guest posts is that they are published pretty much as they come. (I suspect I’m refusing to apologise only to myself. Doubt anyone else cares.) Anyway, next time you’re in the province of England, be sure to tell people you’re off to the mainland whenever you travel to anywhere in continental Europe.

So thanks very much to Noble Cause Corruption for bringing some us some excitement. Just think, if there had been a shotgun handy, the history of Ireland might be quite different. (Which would be awful, given how absolutely perfect it is now. And obviously shooting people is generally speaking a bad thing.)

NCC is not getting a prize as of the time of writing this – because his secrecy precludes it. Which means there’s more left for the rest of you. The next entry in the The Day I Met… competition is same place, same day next week – i.e. Wednesday 21st September.  And next week, the right-on reputation of a well-known musician is tarnished. Oh dear. He’s one of my favourites.

Of course you can come back here before next Wednesday. Meanwhile, if you want to enter – and who wouldn’t having read NCC’s story – the details of how to are here. Ah go on.

Past episodes:

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17 Comments

Filed under Guest Posts, The Day I Met... Competition

17 responses to “The Day I Met… Gerry Adams

  1. ” In trying to evacuate the premises, I nearly evacuated something else.”

    “…had a bit of tea and cake, after which, I went and changed my underpants!”

    Still having a grand belly laugh – I love it!

  2. I was also going to mention the same lines that had me cracking up. That was an awesome story, well told, and I am def going to follow that site. What a story, loved it.

  3. Surely “the mainland” is a larger piece of land in the vicinity of an island. How do people who live on the Aran Islands refer to the island of Ireland? Well then.

    • blackwatertown

      See you? Oh you’re an aggravating divil.
      And in response I say…
      The residents of Inis Meáin and Inis Oírr may call Ireland the mainland, but they don’t use that term for the largest of the three little islands in their group, Inis Mór. So I guess people in Ireland could call continental Europe the mainland, but it would hardly apply to the neighbouring larger island in the archipelago, Great Britain.
      So yah boo sucks to you, smarty pants.
      And that gives me an idea for a future post – Chips: What’s on my shoulder? Oh, I’ve given it away already, haven’t I?
      And for a Brucie Bonus: People on the Isle of Man don’t call England the mainland either – they call it “across” – so you could have a Manx person tell you that they’re going across to across. (Or maybe that should be Across.)

  4. I don’t like Gerry Adams, the man. Call it a gut feeling. I wouldn’t trust him to crack an egg. So, I am afraid, no cake in this parlour.

    NCC quite the flirt – isn’t he? How long can it take to follow the trail of his clues? If one were so inclined. And gullible.

    Meandering down my own gently winding garden path,
    U

  5. Thankfully I never had anyone like that come to my door.

  6. Barbara Rodgers

    Still, it’s kind of creepy to send half a team to the back door and half to the front door – threatening, suspicious and very strange…

    • blackwatertown

      Very good point. Maybe it was to make sure the householder didn’t escape out the back with the cake.
      Odd behavious indeed. I suppose it could be driven by his own personal security concerns, having been targetted and hit in the past. But still…
      And it would mean splitting the cake seven ways.

  7. Yes, ‘the mainland’ grates with me. I refer to the particular country, GB, or ‘the other island’. Needless to say the English husband often uses ‘the mainland’ just to wind me up. The whole language thing can lead to all sorts of pitfalls; in an earlier life I once had two meetings straight after each other with prisoner support groups. I was worried about when I’d remember to say ‘Northern Ireland’, and when I’d say ‘the North’. I got it right for the first meeting. Not so lucky the second time- credibility nearly out the window!!

    I’ve never been a cop of any description, but I think I’d panic just as much if that squad came to the door 🙂 Good tale, NCC

    • blackwatertown

      You could always try just saying “here” – but then you’d have to watch out whether it was “up here” or “over here”.

  8. Love the post and the comments- v funny. Have to say, I agree with Speccy- can’t stand the term ‘the mainland’. It’s Ireland and England. End of.

  9. Kirk Forney

    Very well written story.

  10. Tori

    Awesome. Good work

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