Kingsmill survivor ‘forgives’ IRA
The chilling words Alan Black heard an IRA commander say before he was shot 18 times and 10 of his workmates were slaughtered. Remarkably, as an inquest into the massacre resumes, he says he is willing to forgive those responsible – and he just wants the
A SURVIVOR of one of the worst atrocities of the Troubles has urged those responsible for slaughtering 10 of his workmates to ‘do the right thing’ and come forward.
Alan Black survived the 1976 Kingsmill atrocity in south Armagh, in which the IRA attacked a van full of Protestant workers. A lone Catholic was allowed to escape.
An inquest into the massacre resumes on Tuesday in Belfast.
Last month, it heard that a palm print found on the IRA getaway van has now been matched by police. It has been alleged that the print belongs to Dundalk republican Colm Murphy, who has strongly denied any involvement.
Mr Black said he forgives the men who shot him 18 times and left him with horrific life-long injuries. Remarkably, he says he would even be willing to meet them and help them come forward.
The 72-year-old said: ‘I would urge those involved to confess. I don’t know how they sleep at night.’
EVEN amidst the worst horrors of the Northern Ireland conflict, Alan Black’s story stands out. Shot 18 times by the IRA, he miraculously survived the Kingsmill massacre, in which 10 of his workmates were slaughtered on a lonely south Armagh road.
An inquest into the 1976 atrocity resumes in Belfast on Tuesday. Last month, it heard that a palm print, found on the killers’ getaway van, had just been matched by police.
It has since been alleged that the print belongs to leading Dundalk republican Colm Murphy. Previously found liable in a civil court for the 1998 Omagh bomb in which 29 people were killed, Murphy has denied involvement in Kingsmill.
Alan Black, 72, says he is waiting to see proof of the allegations against Murphy. Yet remarkably, he is willing to forgive whoever owns the palm print and every IRA member involved in the attack. He is now appealing to them to ‘do the right thing’ and finally tell the truth about that awful night 40 years ago.
‘I would urge those involved to get what they did off their chests and confess. I don’t know how they sleep at night. Like me, they will be men in the latter years.
‘Under the Good Friday Agreement, their sentence would be just two years in jail. Surely that is better than going to meet their maker with such an awful crime on their consciences?’ he asks.
‘If they’re scared to see the police on their own, they can contact me and I will go with them. I forgive them for the hurt they caused me and my family. But I can’t forgive them for the 10 lives they took.
‘Even the bereaved families can’t do that, it’s not their right. The only people who can do it are those whose lives they took.’
Alan doesn’t hate the IRA men who committed the atrocity.
‘I have never harboured hatred in my heart. I believe people are fundamentally good and decent. I always had faith in humanity and I didn’t lose it after Kingsmill,’ he says.
‘Many people in Northern Ireland took wrong turns in the 1970s and in some ways it was understandable. Both Protestants and Catholics saw their communities under threat from the other side. It spiralled out of control. Ordinary people became rabid gunmen.’
Alan says that on a fine summer’s day, it is as if Kingsmill happened to someone else.
‘But on a dark winter’s night, when I come home and light the fire, it settles on me like a cloud.
‘Approaching the anniversary is awful. I count down the days. On the morning of January 5, I think that the boys have only so many hours left to live, then it’s minutes and then at 5.20pm they are dead.’
Alan sees all the faces on the minibus on that fateful journey from Glenanne textile factory, where they worked, to their Bessbrook homes. They were bantering about the football – whether Manchester United or Liverpool would win the English First Division – when a man with a torch waved them down.
Dressed in military-style clothing and speaking with an English accent, by Suzanne Breen he ordered them out of the bus. Eleven other men with combat jackets and blackened faces appeared. The men thought they were the British Army.
The only Catholic among them was told to run down the road. Then the shooting started.
‘For years, I didn’t tell the truth to protect the bereaved,’ Alan says. ‘I said it was over quickly and nobody suffered, but it wasn’t like that.
‘The first round of shots were waist-high to bring us down. The boys were lying on the ground moaning. Then I heard, “Finish them off!” and the gunmen went round methodically shooting everyone in the head. I could see their Doc Marten shoes and the tips of their rifles as they stood over me. The bullet hit my skull but didn’t penetrate it.
‘I stayed as quiet as I could because I knew if I even flinched there would be another bullet.’
Kingsmill was carried out in retaliation for the sectarian murder of six Catholics in the previous 24 hours. But these victims weren’t loyalists or security forces members, they were ordinary Protestants.
A Catholic stranger, Gerry McKeown, drove into the carnage. He said prayers over Alan and stayed until the ambulance came.
‘I have never harboured hatred, people are fundamentally decent’