Back at work on the following Monday, I had a colleague call on me and invite me to visit a new German Bar in the Dolphin Hotel in downtown Dublin. That evening, as I walked into Essex Street in the city after parking my car, I found my way blocked. A car had parked partly on the footpath and the driver’s door was open, blocking the path completely. As I approached, the driver got out and asked if my name was Sheridan. It was a winter’s night and I was wearing my overcoat. I have a habit of putting my hand inside of my coat resting it on the top button. Some of friends used to refer to me as “Napoleon.” I placed my hand inside my coat as usual. “Hold on hold on, I only want to talk,” he said, obviously thinking that I was going for a gun.
“What do you want,” I asked, catching on very quickly to the reason for his nervousness.
“Are you the Eamonn Sheridan who used to attend St. Finbarr’s School?” he asked.
“Yeah, what of it?” I replied.
“Don’t you know me?” he asked.
“No, and I suggest that you identify yourself good and quick before I lose my patience.”
“I’m Billy Wright,” he said.
“Well bugger me Billy, what the hell are you up to?” I asked the question, knowing that he was a member of the IRA. We had been at school together and his father and mine served together in the Dublin Brigade Old IRA. But unlike myself, he had joined the new crowd and didn’t care who knew about it.
“Look, I’m sorry but I’ve been sent to give you a warning. You’ve been talking to the wrong people and you could be in serious trouble.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about Billy. But this much I’ll tell you… your mistake was in not doing me tonight. Because by the time you get home, I’ll have arranged for you and… I named three others to be wiped out within twenty-four hours of anything happening to me.” Just then the friend that I was meeting came along. “Hi Jack,” I called to him. He was on the opposite footpath and the lighting in the street was very poor. Billy immediately jumped into his car and took off with a screech of tyres.
“What was that all about?” Jack asked as we made our way into the German Bierkeller.
I related the story over a pint and he looked at me in astonishment. “Don’t worry,” I said, “You’re perfectly safe.” We met on many occasions after that but never a word was mentioned about the episode.
I’m no hero, I hasten to add, and I shook all over as I made my way home that night. I wondered how best to handle the situation. My mentor, Colonel Fitzgerald had died and I didn’t have another contact. The poor man had been suffering from cancer and it finally took its toll. My own commanding officer had moved from the unit to Area Command. He didn’t approve of me anyway, since I began to live with Linda. So I phoned my father and told him briefly what had happened. “I’m leaving a note of the addresses of the four individuals,” I said, “If anything happens to me you’ll know where to look.” He was happy with that and asked me to call and see him as soon as I got the chance.
Having given the situation much thought that night, I decided to face Billy Wright next day and do whatever was necessary to sort him out. Call me a head-case if you like, but I won’t be intimidated by anyone. So I set off early next morning and arrived at his barbershop on the Cabra Road at five minutes past nine. I wore a military style rain Mac and tucked the .45 into a holster in front of my left hip. It would be easier to draw it from that position, as I am right handed.
I was surprised to find that there was a man already in the shop having his hair cut. So I took a seat and wondered why Billy didn’t recognise me. He didn’t greet me in the way that I’d have expected. As I watched him however I began to realise that the guy I was looking at wasn’t Billy at all. He had an identical twin brother that I’d forgotten about and that’s who I was seeing. “Is Billy due in?” I asked him.
“No, he’s got the day off today,” he replied.
“When you see him tell him that Eamonn Sheridan was looking for him and I’ll be back.”
“Right,” he said as I opened the door to leave. Before I managed to visit him again he was machined-gunned by the IRA on the premises. He was strong and fit and was a champion boxer in his youth and he managed to struggle down the stairs and out onto the footpath outside where he died. He had taken five bullets, according to reports.
The newspapers reported that he had been double dealing. He was arrested after an IRA bank raid and he cooperated with the police by giving them details of other IRA operations in return for his freedom. Not long after his death, I phoned one of the other names that were on my list. We had been friends at school and I knew that he was an active member of Sinn Féin, (the political wing of the IRA,) and arranged to meet him. I told him of my meeting with Billy Wright and what I had done subsequently. “I had carried the .45 pistol the morning I went to see him, and I was prepared to use it if needs be. He may or may not have delivered my message and I want you to relay it for me just in case.” I repeated what I had told Billy. “Tell your people that I’m carrying and I won’t go down without a fight.” Not too long after our meeting, I got a phone call from one of the other names on the list. He wanted me to meet him in Slattery’s Pub in Terenure, on the South Side of Dublin.
I didn’t know what was planned, so I spoke to the Battalion Intelligence Officer. He looked at me in amazement, telling me that he knew nothing of my previous conversations with the Brigade Commander. He felt that it was too heavy for him to deal with, and he arranged for me to speak to the Brigade IO. We sat down in the living room of his house, which wasn’t very far from where I lived. I went through the whole story again with him. He acted as if he heard it all before but it was obvious to me that he hadn’t. “So what do you want me to do?” he asked when I’d finished speaking.
“I’d like you to arrange cover for me while I’m in the pub and if someone could watch my car so that it’s not interfered with I’d appreciate that.”
“I can’t do that,” he said with a look of disdain, “Sure you’re only a civilian.” That remark was typical of the regular. It was their way of putting down the amateur. The problem was that this amateur had no respect for the so-called professional. They had proven themselves unworthy of the name, in my opinion. The one and only opportunity the army had to resolve the partition issue once and for all was blown because they were unfit and unready.
“So the commission I hold from the President is of no worth. Is that what you’re telling me?” I said with raised eyebrows. He also gave the distinct impression that I was just a telltale and I wondered just where his loyalties lay. “Do you have any suggestions?” I asked.
“Go into the Garda Station in Terenure and tell them that the law is likely to be broken and get them to arrange to come in and get you if you’re not out by a specified time.”
“That’s it?” I said in disgust.
“That’s all I can do for you,” he said, as I got up to leave. The meeting had been arranged for the following Friday and I called the senior NCO’s around me on Thursday in barracks. Without going into too much detail, I asked them if they would be prepared to be there the following night. Not one of the six I spoke to was prepared to oblige. The officers were no better, with one exception. His name is Sean Sherwin. He later became the youngest member of the Dáil and is now the National Organiser for the Fianna Fáil Party. He proved to be a true friend, and we are still very close today. I help him in whatever way I can and will continue to do so as long as I live. The Garda behind the desk in the station looked at me as if I was off my head, when I tried to get him to make the necessary arrangements, without telling him anything of value. He wasn’t entertaining me at all until I told him that I was a lieutenant from Griffith barracks, and to get the arrangements in place good and quick.
“Is this political?” he asked.
“It could be,” I said. “Just do as I’m asking, right!”
He then said that he would take care of it.
My adversary sat at a table in the lounge, drinking a glass of Guinness. I gestured to a young waiter and ordered a pint also as I sat down on the opposite side of the table. I noticed that Sean was sitting at the end of the bar with an excellent view of everything. “Look… there seems to have been some misunderstanding,” he said. “We were told by Billy Wright that you had been talking to the Special Branch, so naturally we got a little uptight about things. We since found out that he was in fact, their Gillie, and that’s been taken care of.” As he spoke to me, he constantly looked about and nodded at the people sitting at other tables.
That got up my nose and so I said, “Do you think I’m some sort of idiot? I know what you’re at and I will not be intimidated. Do you think that I’d be foolish enough to come in here without arranging cover myself? Now cut the crap; and by the way, if I’m not out of here at nine o’clock on the dot, I’ve arranged for a squad of Gardaí to come in and get me.”
He was flabbergasted. “There was no need to do that,” he said, looking distinctly nervous.
“I didn’t know what you had planned and I wasn’t about to take any chances. Now let’s get something straight. Whatever Billy Wright told you is a load of rubbish. I don’t know where he got my name from, or in what context he used it. But this much I can tell you, he was one of yours and he was the one feeding the SB with information. So how can you believe anything that he told you?”
“Yeah… well that’s what my people say as well, so I’m here to clear the air. We don’t have a problem with you.”
I checked my watch, “Before I go, let me give you a word of advice; tell your guys to learn to keep their mouths shut, then you’ll have fewer problems. Also… I happen to be a commissioned officer in the Defence Forces. If one of yours spilled his guts to me, or any of my colleagues, we would be duty bound to report it. So you can forget about the Informer thing. That label, in my opinion, is reserved strictly for your gang. By the way, how come the SB gave my name to Billy Wright?”
“They traded it with him in exchange for information he gave them on the movement. They reckoned it would divert us from finding out about him. In any event, we have our own guys in the Gardaí and in the Army, too.”
With that, I got up and left the pub, vowing to myself again that no matter what information came my way in future, it would stay with me. I wondered again about the Intelligence Officer whom I’d had the recent meeting with. I also deeply regretted reporting what information I had gotten in the first place. My life had been put at risk for nothing and there would not be a repeat performance… ever.
There was a Garda sergeant and a colleague standing at the edge of the footpath across the road. I went over and identified myself, thanked them for being there and told them that the matter had been cleared up, so there was no need to hang about any longer. I went over to my car, checked it out before getting in and being satisfied that it hadn’t been interfered with, I drove home. I wondered as I drove how the hell the SB got my name in the first place. Then I remembered what the Colonel said about them telling him that I was a member of the IRA. He must’ve given them my name. I remember my own CO telling me that the regular army didn’t trust us reserves. So it wouldn’t have been too difficult for a Garda officer to convince the Colonel that I needed investigating. Not very bright, I thought and I promised myself that from now on I would take my own advice and keep my mouth shut. The threat may or may not have disappeared, but I wasn’t taking any chances; so I continued to carry the .45 revolver in the glove compartment of the car just in case. I didn’t trust the buggers.