Siege of Jadotville Part III
PART III: THE FORGOTTEN VICTORY
The Irish UN troops face a final test in a deadly African showdown
In the last of three interviews with Irish UN veterans, Tony Dykes reveals how he survived not only the initial siege, but also a subsequent battle against his attackers in the capital of Katanga
The Siege of Jadotville is one of the most remarkable stories in Irish military history. Between 13-17 September 1961, 156 inexperienced United Nations peacekeepers of A Company, 35th Irish Infantry Battalion fought a heroic defence in the Congo against 2,000-4,000 armed secessionist Katangese gendarmeries and mercenaries.
Against all the odds not one member of A Company was killed, while 300-400 of their attackers became fatalities, and approximately 1,000 were wounded. However, the remarkable efforts of the Irish soldiers, led by Commandant Patrick ‘Pat’ Quinlan, were not fully supported by the UN high command, and the garrison was eventually surrounded and forced into a tense captivity by the Katangans. They were eventually released in late October 1961.
A Company’s bravery was not just confined to Jadotville (now Likasi): after they were released from captivity approximately 95-100 members of the company came under attack in the Katangan capital of Elisabethville (now Lubumbashi) before they were scheduled to return to Ireland in December 1961.
Known as the ‘Second Battle of Katanga’ this fierce fight was the UN’S attempt to clear rebel gendarmeries and mercenaries from enemy roadblocks around Elisabethville Airport and restore freedom of movement. 58 members of A Company had already flown home on 28 November, so it was left to the remnants of the veterans of Jadotville to face their attackers once more.
Working with Swedish and Indian peacekeepers, A Company led the vanguard and once again inflicted many casualties under Pat Quinlan’s command without losing a single man. Along with substantial UN air support, the mercenaries and gendarmeries were comprehensively defeated, and many surrendered. The remainder of A Company finally returned home just before Christmas in 1961.
Among those battle-weary troops was Private Tony Dykes. Born in 1941, Dykes was 19 years old when he was deployed to the Congo and tells the gritty but forgotten story of how A Company finally inflicted a satisfying victory over their formidable foes.
A peacekeeping ‘policeman’
When did you join the Irish Army?
I joined as an ordinary recruit in 1959. A neighbour of mine called Frank Macmanus – who was at Jadotville with me – said, ”Come on, we’re off!” I went to Custume Barracks at Athlone with him, and he was supposed to get £10 for any person that he brought with him. I’m still waiting on that £10!
What did your training consist of?
It was mundane training for six months. We were square-bashing with the Lee Enfield .303 rifle, would you believe it! That’s what we went out to the Congo with. I also learned [how to use] the Bren gun, a mortar and the Gustav, which was a short close-fighting gun. I was a ‘three star’ soldier, and that was as far as I went. It meant that you’d passed the test in assembling and disassembling your weapons. We were then allocated to companies, and I was transferred to Curragh Camp. They put me in the cadet school in the officers’ mess as a barman, which was a cushy job.
What did you know about the Congo before you were deployed?
Absolutely nothing. I volunteered to go to the Congo because the job I was doing was getting a bit mundane. I had to keep saluting every officer I met and was getting a bit peed off with that so I volunteered. Luckily I was selected to go so it was off with the kitbag and back to Custume Barracks.
We didn’t know how much turmoil there was in Africa, and we didn’t know about its politics. We also didn’t know what the UN policy was apart from one, which was, “We’re going out there as peacekeepers and policemen.” We were told that we weren’t going out into a war; we were going to placate the civilians out there as policemen.
How did it feel to be a UN peacekeeper?
It felt good because we were going out there as raw recruits, and we were only young. I was 19, and to be a ‘policeman’ held some power in the sense that we had a little bit of responsibility.
Under siege
What were the circumstances that led to A Company being sent to Jadotville?
We were camped at Elisabethville Airport. I remember going to a place called Kamina, and we had to put bars across the runway because the Russians were trying to interfere with what the UN was doing.
B Company, 35th Irish Battalion plus Swedish troops first went to Jadotville. Within 24-48 hours they came back, and word filtered down to us that the people didn’t want them there. All we were told was, “Pack your kitbags, we’re going out to Jadotville.” What we didn’t know – and it was the most vital information – was that there was a bridge between Jadotville and Elisabethville at Lufira. We were never told about it.
We didn’t go with heavy mortars, and there was nothing to tell us we’d be in trouble. We were sent out in lieu of a full company, who probably had a lot of heavy gear with them and Swedish personnel. This was important because the Swedish transport was out of this world compared to ours. We saw the bridge for the first time, and little red lights came up in my mind. I thought, “We were never told about this,” and we went on into Jadotville. I actually wrote a letter to my parents at Elisabethville Airport and told them we were going to this place and said I felt uneasy about it. Luckily I never posted it.
What preparations were you involved in at Jadotville before the siege began?
We were told to dig trenches – ‘foxholes’ I called them. Digging a trench was hard work. We dug various foxholes. Me and the lads I was with were near Jadotville, off the road. Digging in turned out to be a marvellous decision.
How did the siege begin for you?
We were at Mass and we left our rifles outside. Sergeant John Monaghan was outside shaving, and the next thing we heard was the gendarmerie coming up, and they fired at us. They must have been watching us, but John Monaghan jumped into a foxhole and gave it them back while they shot at us.
We were with our officers and sergeants, but we were only young. I was only 19, but the older sergeants were brilliant. They looked after us, and we looked up to them. They placated and calmed us down, and we jumped into our foxholes. It was the first time that anyone had fired a shot in anger. We heard the bullets whizzing across, but I felt confident because we knew we were in good hands.
What events from the siege do you remember most vividly?
There were lots of things: a lack of food – although the cook [Corporal] Bobby Allen did his best; a lack of water and most important of all sleep. We couldn’t sleep for four or five days, and Commandant Quinlan said, “We’re going to be in trouble. Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.”
During the fighting Quinlan came up to my foxhole and said to me, “You, out!” It wasn’t quite like that, but I jumped out and had to escort him around under fire so he could make sure that everyone was OK. He wanted to see what was happening. After we’d come back we went to where he had his headquarters at the Purfina garage. On the side of it were wooden steps going up to his office. When we got halfway up the steps Quinlan stopped and said, “I didn’t realise there was another crater down at the bottom steps.” These craters were full of water, and he told me, “Two mortar bombs came over there. One caused that crater and the other is up here. The other one went in but luckily it didn’t go off.” That bomb had been a dud, and he said, “Dykes, if that thing had gone off I wouldn’t be here anymore.” So he was lucky.
Also, this jet fighter would come over and knocked it out of us for a while. If he had hit the garage or the right side going into Jadotville my friends and I would have gone. We were very lucky. We were rattling off at him, shooting our rifles and doing anything. At some point I believe he was hit by rifle fire – somebody was a good shot! Rumour had it that we put the jet off for two days but the bugger came back. When he returned he flew higher and out of the range of our little rifles.
What were conditions like for those fighting in the defence perimeter?
It was pretty grim all round because we didn’t know what was happening. There were lulls in the fighting, but it was intense. Sometimes the gendarmerie would take it into their heads to have a go at us, but we gave back as good as we got.
There was a company of Irish troops trying to relieve us on the Elisabethville side of the Lufira Bridge, and we could hear them pounding. We were shouting “Yeah! They’ll soon be here, we’ll be alright.” But they were beaten back twice, and that caused a lot of havoc with Quinlan. He said that it “wasn’t on” or words to that effect. We were dependant on the people on the bridge, but there was heavy pounding and mortar fire there. There was a couple of Gurkhas killed on that bridge trying to get through to us. The disappointment then of not being relieved was rock bottom.
Was there any point during the siege when you thought you might not survive?
There were no atheists in [those] foxholes. We were all Catholics, and when we were fired on in our trenches after four or five days we were thinking, “I wish this was over.” Funnily enough I always thought we’d make it. We always knew that peace would come, but the only time that I personally thought that we wouldn’t make it [back home] was when we were captured and taken out of Jadotville.
How did the siege end for you?
I must say that we didn’t surrender: it was a ceasefire. We were supposed to come out of our trenches and patrol Jadotville with gendarme guards, but unfortunately that didn’t quite happen.
We came out of our trenches and were mentally relieved to have it done and dusted – or so we thought. As soon as we got out that was it, we had to lay down our rifles. They then came along and were looking for our dead. [Private] Butch Brennan was a great guy, and when we were all marching up the Elisabethville end of Jadotville he started whistling Colonel Bogey so that put a grin on our faces! I’ve also
“THEY PLACATED AND CALMED US DOWN, AND WE JUMPED INTO OUR FOXHOLES. IT WAS THE FIRST TIME THAT ANYONE HAD FIRED A SHOT IN ANGER. WE HEARD THE BULLETS WHIZZING ACROSS, BUT I FELT CONFIDENT BECAUSE WE KNEW WE WERE IN GOOD HANDS”
“COMMANDANT QUINLAN SAID, ‘WE’RE GOING TO BE IN TROUBLE. DON’T SHOOT UNTIL YOU SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES’”
got to take my hat off to Quinlan and the other officers – they were brilliant.
We got put into coaches and buses, and we had to go through this huge gendarme military base – that’s where I thought we had our chips. The women and men came out gesturing with knives what they were going to do with us. That was scary because we missed our friend the rifle, and there was nothing we could do.
What is your opinion of the UN high command and Irish Army’s actions regarding Jadotville?
I don’t understand the mentality of the people that were in charge of us – Conor Cruise O’Brien (UN Representative in the Congo) and the Irish general in command. We were armed, but we weren’t qualified to go to Jadotville. When I say ‘qualified’ we weren’t in a state of military readiness or anything like that. To this day I don’t know who made that decision or why, and nobody’s told us.
O’Brien was a civilian politician. He didn’t have the ability to make a military decision, and we were sent out there to dry. I hold O’Brien largely responsible and whoever was the Irish general in charge. They must have left their brains back in the cadet school at Curragh. It definitely wasn’t a military decision.
Imprisonment
What were conditions like in captivity?
The conditions were alright, but with Moïse Tshombe (president of secessionist Katanga) it was best to keep your head down, it didn’t matter where you slept or anything like that. I
remember Tshombe came out and Pat Quinlan was talking to him, and I was very close by. Tshombe reassured us, near enough, that we were going to be safe. If it was true or not I don’t know. He spared our lives, but when we all walked up to have a look he had armed people all around us. It wasn’t very nice.
We were held in captivity for what felt like a very long time, but we were kept busy. We had guards, and in Kolwezi we stopped in a huge building of flats, and Quinlan had us all start training on physical self-defence. He was good: all we could see was these guys with rifles on the other side looking at us, and we all thought, “These guys might get cross.”
What was your opinion of Pat Quinlan?
He was hard but a good man: we admired him, and I hope he admired us as well. He had an eye like a hawk. I remember we were marching around Custume Barracks as a company, and all of a sudden I heard this voice saying, “Dykes! Swing your arms!” That was in front of 150 of us, and he was able to spot that little item. He was a good disciplinarian, but he looked after us.
Quinlan saved our lives by digging the foxholes. He was the same in captivity and never stopped being the boss. He never said, “Sorry lads” or anything like that, he continued being a military man no matter what happened to him. He put across to me very strongly that we were just carrying on doing our duty. I must say all the officers were good but tough – they had to be.
The outstanding man to me was [Company Sergeant] Jack Prendergast. He placated us and was out there handing out ammunition under fire – he was a very brave man. Many years later back in Ireland they made a collection and got a special medal struck for him and presented it to him in Custume Barracks. He deserved it.
What happened when you were eventually released from captivity?
We were told that we were going to be released, and we were all pulled into trucks and coaches to the outskirts of Elisabethville. But talks went awry, and we were taken back to Kolwezi. That was disappointing. Then the second time we were going to be released Quinlan made sure that behind each driver there were two senior men. If we weren’t going to be released they were going to throw the main driver and his assistant out. We wouldn’t have stood a chance to be honest, but Quinlan had those people on each coach: we weren’t going to go back to Kolwezi. That was a bit scary, but we didn’t know, and the senior people were brilliant. They never worried us about what was possibly going to happen. Luckily we were released. If you look at it sensibly, what chance would we have had to get off the coaches? We had no arms, but the gendarmes did, and we were very deep in enemy territory.
However, it was good to be released. We were taken back to the airport area around Elisabethville. That was a relief, and word spread that the whole company would be repatriated – unfortunately this was only half the company. They left three or four weeks before us, and we were supposed to be going on the next flight, but then all hell broke loose again in Elisabethville.
Victory in Elisabethville
What happened when fighting broke out around Elisabethville Airport in December 1961?
It was more foxholes, and this time it was wet weather; we were swimming in it. All hell broke loose day and night. That’s where I first got close to being shot. There were two of us in this foxhole, and all I could hear was this ‘Splatter, splatter’ fire. I knew what it was, but luckily it was well away from me on my left side. Snipers were coming in, and you could hear the bullets rattling in from the Katangese gendarmeries and mercenaries.
36th Irish Battalion were flying in to Elisabethville at the time I was there. We were under fire, and they passed our lines. They were told on the American plane beforehand to get into battledress. It must have been terrible for them because they knew they were landing in the airport under fire, and I believe the plane got a couple of shots.
They got off the plane and ran across our lines; I shall never forget that. They were coming off in their pristine uniforms and there was us in the trenches in slopping water, but I did pity them. They were heading straight into fire through a tunnel, and some were shot and didn’t come back. Can you imagine coming off a plane and coming straight into that? They crossed our lines, and we tried to warn them by shouting, but they were given orders to rush through the bush, down the tunnel and onto a railway where they were going.
What was it like fighting alongside UN Indian Army Gurkhas?
We had to do patrols around the airport, and I was lucky enough to be on patrol with some Swedes and Gurkhas. It was a pleasure to say that I fought with those people.
We were on a particular patrol one evening, and we could see an enemy machine gun position at the bottom of the airport. The tracers started coming across: you could fry eggs on them they were so constant. Luckily they went high, but one of the officers said, “Get down low.” The Gurkhas were to my left – they were only small but well-armed.
“QUINLAN SAVED OUR LIVES BY DIGGING THE FOXHOLES. HE WAS THE SAME IN CAPTIVITY AND NEVER STOPPED BEING THE BOSS”
It was getting dark but the officers decided, “We can’t be lying down here all night,” and they sent the Gurkhas in. That was that, it was all over. It was a sigh of relief: there were only a dozen or so Gurkhas but they came back with smiles on their faces. I remember one of them had three or four watches on his arm and was smiling. I was embarrassed because I was six-foot tall, but these guys were smaller and genuine [soldiers]. It was an honour to see that and to serve with them.
What happened when you were guarding captured mercenaries?
There was another kerfuffle in Elisabethville, and we had to take over the telephone exchange, post office and other important places. When myself and a chap called [Private] Bobby Bradley got to the transports to take us into Elisabethville an NCO shouted, “We haven’t got our box of ammunition with us. Dykes! Bradley! Go back and get it.” We ran back and got the ammunition, but when we returned the rest of our company had gone into Elisabethville – they couldn’t wait. There were a couple of officers left in charge so we went up to them, explained the situation and asked what they wanted us to do.
The officer said, “We’ve got mercenaries down there. You two go down and keep an eye on them.” We had to guard captured mercenaries. That was scary because these guys were tall and built like brick shithouses! I was tall, but I was like a wisp. There were at least half a dozen of them so they outnumbered us, and they had probably fought against us at Jadotville or in Elisabethville. I had my rifle but I said, “These guys will knock the hell out of us.” Luckily, they were more relieved than anything else because they were put on a plane afterwards and sent straight to Rhodesia [now Zimbabwe].
How did it feel to comprehensively defeat the gendarmeries and mercenaries before you returned to Ireland?
It was memorable, and we had got our own back – we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. During that time in Elisabethville the UN was permitted to have its own jet fighters, and it gave me great pleasure. Two or three days before Christmas in 1961, Elisabethville Airport was in a mess with skeleton planes, the lot.
But the pleasure I got to see was before any plane took off the Indian jets would strafe the bottom of the runway in case anyone was there. If anybody tried to shoot at us these guys would come in and knock them out.
When we finally left for Ireland there were no seats on the plane: we were in our uniforms with mucky boots, and my dog tags were gone. All I remember was a lovely view of Elisabethville and jungle underneath. I said, “Bye bye, you’re on your own!”
Unjustly branded
Did your experiences in the Congo inform your permanent move to England in 1962?
It did. I left the Irish Army in April or May 1962 because I was in turmoil – I couldn’t face signing on for another three or four years. We were called cowards: some military rumour went around saying that we left waving our white shirts back in Jadotville.
I got a good reference from the army, but I left and moved over to England. I blotted it all out and wanted to make a new, decent life for myself after all that. I met my wife not long after, but I never told her what had happened. My brother-in-law was in the Royal Navy, and he would often tell us about his escapades, but I would just sit and never said a word about mine. I’ve been angry for years, and I was probably initially ashamed to tell my family about it.
How does it feel to be belatedly honoured decades after the siege took place?
Bittersweet is the word, because three quarters of the lads are not here. We should have been recognised at least a year or two after we came back, but the government of the day just brushed it under as though it didn’t happen.
Pat Quinlan did volunteer some officers and NCOS to get medals, but they were refused. I would love to know who was on the committee. They couldn’t have been military men, and if they were they didn’t know what it was like to fire a rifle in anger. It’s a sad situation where the officers and men had to make a collection for a medal for Jack Prendergast.
What still needs to be done for veterans in the present day?
That’s a great question. West Meath County Council put on a do for us and gave us a certificate, and down in Kerry, where Pat Quinlan came from, they did something similar. In my opinion every Irish county council should do the same. The lads in A Company came from all over the country so every council in the republic should recognise us, so that all Ireland knows about it.