Far before Harold Good, the Methodist minister, witnessed the IRA’s arms’ annihilation in frosty barnhouses in 2005, his family had past encounters with paramilitary firearms. His grandfather, Isaac, was among hundreds of Ulster Volunteer Force members who received weaponry in Larne along the Antrim coastline in 1912 to combat Home Rule – as Good wrote, Isaac was ready to battle the British to remain British.
In 1922, during the initial two weeks of the Civil War, Good’s uncle and aunt presented £70 worth of boots, laces, clothing and socks to Pax Whelan, the anti-Treatyite IRA leader, in Dungarvan, Co Waterford. A copy of the bill of sale still remains in Good’s possession.
During the era of the IRA’s border campaign from 1956 to 1962, Good’s father, RJ, situated in Enniskillen and serving as the head of the Irish Methodist Church at the time, had confrontations with the IRA leaders in Dublin advocating against violence.
Presently, Good, a witness of the 2005 IRA disarmament, is the author of “In Good Time”, a reliable guide to peacekeeping difficulties, as stated by former chief Mary McAleese.
Conversations in Good’s residence, with his Waterford-birthed wife, Clodagh, are repeatedly disrupted by their decade-old Border Terrier, Judy, who’s yet to pardon them for departing on a cruise trip to commemorate their diamond wedding anniversary.
Good’s home played an integral role in concluding The Troubles as many individuals, such as Sinn Féin’s Martin McGuinness, unionist Jeffrey Donaldson, loyalist paramilitaries and several more anonymous, familiarised themselves with each other around the kitchen table.
As Good, now 87, recounts, the only guiding principle was ‘talk, truth and trust’.
A visitor might wonder how could discussions remain confidential in a dwelling tucked away on a pathway parallel to the Belfast/Hollywood railway track? The situation makes one feel on guard as though we’re in the second part of a match, trailing two goals and battling against the wind.
He reflects on a moment when anxiety hit him. He noticed labourers atop a rooftop. He thought, ‘Those lads are trying to snoop around.’ However, people were mindful to not draw attention and tactfully arrive and depart at variable timings.
Most times, with cups of tea and Clodagh’s scones fuelling them, meetings convened behind the house, gathered around the kitchen table and glancing out via the patio doors towards a secluded garden.
After living in the US for a considerable time, Good returned to Northern Ireland to assume a role in Agnes Street church on Shankill Road, Belfast in August 1968, just as the Civil Rights movement was initiating.
Contemplating if an unreserved and benevolent attitude from unionists, coupled with firm guidance from Protestant churches could have overpowered Rev Ian Paisley’s adamant “Not An Inch” tirades is something he often does.
Raised in Derry, he confesses his unfamiliarity about the Catholics’ “just complaints”, but likewise, it wasn’t until his residency on Shankill Road that he became fully aware of the Protestants being taken for a ride by unionist politicians.
These people were “oblivious of their deprivation, as much as any nationalist or Catholic”, inhabited equally appalling housing, “yet spent countless strenuous hours redoing the red, white and blue railings.”
While reflecting on the Bombay Street assault in August 1969, he narrates the story of “an assaulting loyalist crowd” that set residences ablaze and expelled “an entire Catholic street” in one of the vilest sect-oriented assaults “in our lifetimes.”
He had visited the location the next morning, joined by Fr Des Wilson, and offered support. That Sunday, he informed his Agnes Street followers about the requirement for apparel and “baby necessities” among their Catholic counterparts.
As they departed, the members of his religious following, many of whom were of limited means, generously donated a sum of £70. Not long after, he found himself in possession of a substantial amount of apparel and baby items, a sincere display of care from the Protestant assembly on the Shankill.
Throughout these periods, young males from both divisions were exploited and manipulated, notably by Bill Craig, the leader of Ulster Vanguard, who had previously held a ministerial role in the Stormont’s home affairs department before his removal by Terence O’Neill.
Subsequent to this, Craig and his compatriots conducted training exercises with young Protestants on the Shankill Road, thereby inducing them to believe that they were being recruited to safeguard their community during troubled times.
Years later, Good found himself in the role of a prison chaplain at Crumlin Road Jail, sharing a cell with William Moore and Robert Bates, better known as the notorious Shankill murderers who had just been handed life sentences for their heinous crimes, particularly abhorrent by the times’ standards.
Both individuals were participants in Craig’s parade: “They were unrecognisable behind their masks, but they remembered me and expressed remorse for not heeding my counsel. ‘We were hoping for medals,’ they told me, ‘but we’ve ended up with life sentences’,” Good recounted. He subsequently received a finely crafted leather Bible cover from the two condemned men. Bates gained his freedom in 1996, followed by Moore in 1998.
Even at present, Good maintains that both Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland have yet to fully reconcile with their complex past.
Some Protestants “refute the history of the transgressions inflicted by their community onto others,” he said. “Admitting these wrongs within the Protestant unionist community is not something we are ready to do. There’s always an ‘Ah, but’.”
Conversely, individuals hailing from a republican background “are reticent to admit their actions were wrong. Their remorse tends to be expressed as regret for causing pain and suffering. However, they seldom concede that non-violent alternatives existed. They’re very hesitant to admit that,” concludes Good.
After working in relative obscurity for many years, Good was thrust into the international spotlight as a witness to the IRA’s disarmament, an opportunity extended to him through a phone call from McGuinness in November 2004. Fast forward to September the following year, he journeyed to Dublin for a meeting with Fr Alec Reid. To pass the time, Good visited Christ Church Cathedral and partook in the daily Eucharist service.
Whilst maintaining discretion about specific details, Good provides some insight into subsequent events, such as encountering high-ranking IRA members at the Redemptorists’ residence in Rathgar, situated in the southern region of Dublin.
Good and Reid, though not blindfolded, were escorted in a windowless van to meet with the head of the Independent International Commission on Decommissioning, Canadian General John De Chastelain, a man not to be trifled with, according to Good. He and Fr Reid shared a room for the ensuing days.
Preparations were meticulously planned, inclusive of boiler suits, Wellington boots, a pack full of toiletries and extra clothes, all tailored to fit perfectly. As the day ended, the pair engaged in evening prayers, with Good reading verses from Ephesians, 6:10 -18, which talk of “the sword of the Spirit” and being “equipped with the good news of peace”. Thus, they both slept with these comforting words in mind.
Throughout the following days, they journeyed to various locations. Apprehension grew regarding the discrepancy in the quantity of weapons being destroyed and the intelligence regarding the IRA’s weaponry. This disparity was eventually reduced considerably.
With each obliterated weapon, Good would offer a prayer of gratitude, knowing that the aboutface weapon would no longer inflict harm or death. However, the reality dawned on him that any potential forensic evidence attached to these weapons, capable of imprisoning those who wielded it, was also being erased: His conclusion – “We inhabit a chaotic world,” as he puts it.
In a rather frank admission, he suggests that if he were ardently pursuing a united Ireland, his approach would be to nurture their homeland into a happy, thriving entity in it’s own right, thus having something worthwhile to present.
Throughout the week, an unfamiliar young man persistently joined their gatherings, largely blending into the environment, his presence eliciting no reaction from attendees. When the final day came, his function unveiled itself. In pure military decorum, weapon in hand, he approached the general, rendering a brisk salute before entrusting the general with his firearm.
This solemn instant was disrupted by Father Alec’s whisper in my ear, “That’s the last firearm exiting Irish politics.” It was a momentous occasion, he recounts. At the time, and since then, Good has fully trusted the honesty of those involved, as well as their remorse over a violent and fruitless clash: they didn’t want future generations to experience the horrors they lived through.
Good sees himself as a ‘Derry boy’ with a west Cork dad, a mum from Armagh and a spouse from Waterford. He reckons that this background grants him a unique comprehension of the entirety of the island and its past. The place is Derry to him, not Londonderry, a sentiment shared by everyone he grew up with, including Protestant relatives and friends. His memoir adds a respectful nod toward those who refer to it as Londonderry in acknowledgement of their British affiliation.
Given his extensive Irish connections, Good currently perceives that Protestants, not Catholics, harbour uncertainties. He observes a shift in societal attitudes toward inter-faith marriages, formerly known as ‘mixed marriages’, indicating Catholics being much more accommodating of them.
He ponders, “Could it be because we feel cornered, as if we’re in the latter half of a match, trailing by two goals and facing the wind?”
Good acknowledges that many Protestants and unionists demonstrated a slower learning curve with regards to understanding the Catholic perspective on Northern Ireland, considering they had suffered significant discrimination. He surmises, “This could be a two-way street, with members of the nationalist Catholic cohort needing to familiarise themselves with Protestant and unionist sentiments if we’re to have a productive conversation about this island’s future.”
“He urges advocates of a unified Ireland to prioritise the creation of a prosperous and jovial Northern Ireland, alarmed by the potential threat of losing one’s sense of self and surrendering control. He proposes that if he were dedicated to the idea of a united Ireland, his focus would be on constructing a self-standing, blissful, and triumphant Irish society, adding value to a potential unified Ireland.
However, fusing an unsuccessful and discontented Northern Ireland would hardly be beneficial. He remarks, if he resided in the south, apprehensions would arise, echoing the sentiments of his southern relatives, who belong primarily to the Protestant faith. His memoir, In Good Time, is available through Orpen Press.”