Читать книгу Land Rover: The Story of the Car that Conquered the World - Ben Fogle, Ben Fogle - Страница 15

I was once in a riot.

I told this story to a GQ journalist. The Daily Mail decided it was too good to be true and printed a claim that I had lied. Their lawyers insisted I provide proof that it happened, which I did. They printed the story questioning my account anyway. So, for the record, I shall tell it again. And I can assure you it is true.

We were holed up in a Northern Irish village. It was a slightly depressing-looking place with a small shop, a church, a pub and row upon row of terraced two-up two-down homes. A few battered Ford Cortinas and Escorts cruised the largely deserted streets, and on the outskirts of town was an army barracks.

We were drinking in a pub when a Snatch Land Rover arrived. Heavily armed soldiers stormed the pub and suddenly grabbed my mate, and before we knew what had happened, he had been spirited away in their armoured vehicle. Things escalated pretty quickly after that and suddenly I was in the midst of a full riot. Petrol bombs were being thrown as the sleep-deprived soldiers approached us, riot shields and batons at the ready.

We threw objects, hollered and heckled. It’s amazing what adrenaline can do to courage, and before I could stop myself I was at the front of the crowd, kicking and grabbing at their riot shields. Somehow I managed to leverage a shield from one of the soldiers. I didn’t think about the baton in his other hand which was soon falling forcefully onto the bridge of my nose.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how I first broke my nose. In a riot.

Of course, it wasn’t quite what it seemed. We were in fact in Longmoor Military Camp in Hampshire in a mock Northern Irish village as ‘actors’ testing new recruits to the army. We were there as fictional residents of the village and the scenario had slowly escalated to a full ‘controlled’, or in my case ‘partly controlled’, riot.

To be fair to the soldiers, we had given them hell by keeping them awake all night by running metal rods up and down the corrugated wall around their barracks, and we had been warned we would get as good as we gave.

I found myself in an ambulance. (An interesting aside; I met a beautiful blonde ‘rioter’ called Lindsey that night and we ended up dating for several years. Every cloud has a silver lining …)

Long before the ‘riot’, I was a child of the Troubles, despite living many miles from the epicentre of the violence consuming Northern Ireland. I grew up in the middle of London’s West End during the 1970s, when the capital was regularly bombed by the Irish Republican Army. I can still recall the sound of bombs going off in the city. We were once sealed inside our house while bomb-disposal officers defused a bomb in a car parked outside. I can remember the excitement of hiding under a table after it was deemed too dangerous to leave our house. We lived opposite a police station and we would often hear the collective siren of dozens of police cars heading off to deal with another detonation.

Perhaps my most vivid memory was the time my father walked to Marble Arch to get to McDonald’s. His life was narrowly saved by a vigilant black cab driver who had seen armed IRA men firing from a nearby hotel.

Of course, throughout the Troubles I was merely a spectator on the sidelines of a conflict that drove a stake into the heart of Northern Ireland. That conflict on home territory killed thousands.

An escalation in the threat of terrorism and violence in Northern Ireland provided a new challenge for the Northern Irish Police Force known as the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC). Facing increasing danger, they needed a vehicle that could provide them with armoured protection. A Series I 109-inch wheelbase Land Rover was first adapted in 1957. It was basic by today’s standards, designed to protect both the vehicle and the officers from bricks and bottles thrown during public disorder. The windows and headlights were protected with metal grilles to protect them from being smashed and the pick up on the rear of the vehicle was encased with a metal cage and lined with hardboard as a prevention to sharp objects used to pierce the cage.

Violence soon became more organised and officers now needed protection from bullets as firearms became more common. The early riot Land Rover was extremely vulnerable to weapons and ballistic plates of steel were fitted for extra protection. The adaptations helped against small arms and low velocity weapons but the vehicles were heavy and parts of the Land Rover were still vulnerable.

A new approach was needed and the RUC developed the Hotspur, named after the brand of armour plate made in Wales. The Hotspur was made from armoured steel that was bolted onto the chassis of a civilian 109 station wagon. The thin aluminium roof was also replaced by armoured steel to protect against IEDs and petrol bombs. The doors were fitted with bulletproof glass and sliding pistol ports were added to give officers the chance to fire from the vehicle if it was ambushed. Plates of ballistic steel were attached on both sides of the Land Rover. The vehicle essentially became an armoured box that could protect the crew from armed terrorists or a riotous crowd. The front windscreen was also replaced with bulletproof glass and a retractable metal grille was bolted to the bonnet that could be pulled up over the windscreen and side windows to protect against flying missiles and paint bombs.

The Hotspur was a success. Over the years there were a number of modifications and adaptations to make the vehicle safer. To reduce the damage and dents from riots and civil disorder the vehicle’s relatively weak lower panels were replaced with polycarbonate. The first-generation Hotspur had been vulnerable to base attacks. Beer kegs were rolled under the vehicles to try and immobilise them. To prevent these attacks a metal grille was fitted around the bottom of the vehicle to give further protection against missiles and IEDs. As petrol bombs became more ubiquitous during escalating violence, later modifications included a fire-extinguishing system that could be activated from the driver’s seat. One button would turn off the vehicle’s fans and a series of pipes would discharge and extinguish into the engine and over the windscreen and bonnet.

Soon the Hotspur was superseded by the Simba, a purpose-built vehicle with an armoured steel body. Where the Hotspur had merely been an adapted civilian vehicle, the Simba was built for business. The armoured steel provided 360-degree protection from high velocity weapons, IEDs and petrol bombs as well as common bricks and bottles. The Simba was a far superior vehicle but the suppliers simply couldn’t keep up with demand. The Hotspurs were coming to the end of their lifespan and the RUC needed a solution. The Troubles were headline news and the government wanted to see swift action against the civil disorder. The Land Rover Tangi was born.

The retiring Hotspurs were cannibalised for their armour kits and they were fitted to the new Defender 110. The civilian vehicles were available in the quantities required and the adaptations were quicker than the Simba. As the donor kits ran out, the RUC began to weld them in their own workshops. Thanks to trial and error the transparent polycarbonate used on the headlights for protection was soon replaced by the older metal grilles from the Hotspur. Civil disorder was becoming more sophisticated. The rioters learned the vehicle’s weak spots. The Tangi was fitted with remote-controlled spotlights and flashing blue lights, all fitted with metal cages to prevent them from being smashed. Both the fire extinguisher system and the side skirt cage were kept as a preventative to objects being thrown under the Land Rover. The increasing use of petrol bombs provided a nightmare scenario to officers inside the vehicles. They faced the impossible decision to stay in the burning vehicle or to face the baying crowd. A strip of fabric was used around the bonnet edge and the hinge between the bonnet and the front bulkhead to protect the engine bay from petrol. With a further 3mm metal grille to protect the engine radiator, the first Tangi was deployed in 1986. It was a game changer for the embattled RUC and was more effective and loved than its predecessor. The heavy weight from the body armour meant that the air conditioning, power steering and disc brakes improved both the performance and working environment for the vulnerable RUC.

Soon the RUC faced another new threat. The roofs of the vehicles were still a vulnerability. During a riot in Belfast’s Dawson Street police were only saved from an ‘aerial’ drogue bomb by their riot shields, which by chance had been packed into the roof cavity. This led to another new addition, the ‘Dawson’s roof’. These new roofs provided another second skin of armour to protect against roof top attacks. Of course the rioters were quick to adapt their own weapons and soon developed IEDs that were fitted with tiny drogues at the rear that could be thrown horizontally at the side of the Tangi like a rugby ball, penetrating the lesser protected side of the Land Rover. The RUC responded with another modification, this time a second skin of ballistic steel separated from the hull by several inches, creating an air gap that could buffer a detonation. This meant bombs would detonate before they struck the main vehicle, reducing their impact and damage. These heavily armoured, Robocop-type Land Rovers have stood the test of time and they still patrol the streets of Northern Ireland today.

Painted in dark grey, the Tangi was used for patrolling Northern Ireland. They were designed to transport two passengers in the front and up to five in the back, a squash with riot shields, helmets and body armour. They must have been as intimidating to be in as they were to be confronted with. A number of people were killed after being hit by these vehicles over the years. Today the vehicles are used for ‘crowd control’. The Good Friday Agreement and the resulting peace process meant that nearly half the 450 armoured Land Rovers were decommissioned. Indeed Chris Patten advised in his 1999 report that all vehicles should be retired to aid the peace process. The Tangi has become an enduring symbol of the Troubles. Long gone is the battleship ‘grey’ of the Troubles, however. The remaining Land Rovers have been repainted in a less confrontational white, yellow and blue and are used by police forces across the UK.

I got to experience Land Rovers doing what they do best in Northern Ireland, albeit in peace-time patrols. I was invited to visit the Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) – formerly known as the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) – who took me out in an armoured Pangolin Land Rover around the conflict zone between the Unionist and Republican communities of West Belfast.

My chest is squeezed by the heavy padding of my bulletproof vest as I bounce around in the back of the Land Rover. The rest of the crew are also dressed in Kevlar flak jackets and black fire-resistant suits, and are all heavily armed. I peer through the tiny ‘sniper’ windows as we edge our way out of the heavily fortified compound.

It is hard to believe that I am not in the midst of some war zone but out to patrol one of the UK’s biggest cities, Belfast, in a police car. But then this, of course, is no ordinary patrol and this is no ordinary Land Rover.

The Pangolin, formerly the Tangi and before that the Simba, has played a pretty crucial role during the Troubles, and perhaps some of the most iconic images from the 1970s and 80s were of these grey armoured Land Rovers driving through a sea of civil unrest. What is perhaps more astonishing is that despite the peace process, the PSNI still relies on upwards of 400 armoured Land Rovers to police Northern Ireland.

From the largely Protestant East Belfast we drive through the centre of the city, which is a hive of business activity. The armoured Land Rover takes a hard right as we leave the main road and drive down a tiny cul-de-sac – and it is as if I have arrived on a different planet.

Two neat rows of detached houses are festooned with red, white and blue. There is Union bunting above the streets and the houses are covered in Union Jacks of every size and shape. Even in the greatest shows of nationalistic pride in England I have never seen such a display of patriotism. Behind the houses, though, looms a towering twenty-foot wall to prevent missiles being hurled by the Loyalist and Republican neighbours at one another.

We leave the red, white and blue for the Republican green, and soon we are cruising down two of Belfast’s most notorious roads: Shankill and Falls. The largely loyalist Shankill Road runs parallel to the largely nationalist Falls Road, and the area has seen numerous flash points over the years.

‘Has anyone on board been caught up in a riot here?’ I ask the crew. There is laughter. ‘Too many times to recall,’ the driver answers.

The Land Rover Pangolin is a car that has been adapted exclusively for the streets of Belfast, which needed an agile, tough vehicle with easy manoeuvrability that could be heavily armoured against ballistics and petrol bombs. Working in teams of five vehicles, the Tangi and Pangolin Land Rovers helped control the Troubles when they were at their peak with their ability to get into the midst of riots and civil unrest and allow police officers to control the situation from within.

While the level of terrorism in Northern Ireland may have fallen, ‘recreational rioting’ is still very much a unique phenomenon in Belfast, particularly in the summer months, during the ‘marching season’.

Chief Inspector of the Tactical Support Group, Garrath McCreery, explains, ‘Our Land Rovers have come under live fire and attack from improvised explosive devices, petrol bombs, paint bombs and an array of missiles. They have on occasions been attacked with sledgehammers and crowbars, and last year a home-made rocket-propelled grenade was fired at one of our vehicles. The crew was fortunate because the device didn’t detonate on impact. An automatic rifle was also used to attack one of our Land Rovers.’

The Pangolin is brimming with kit. There are riot shields, weapons, truncheons, fire extinguishers. The exterior is fitted with CCTV cameras so that the driver can see behind the armoured back door. Fortunately for the crew, a quirk of the weight of the armour means the Land Rovers are almost impossible to be pushed over by rioters.

The image of the car is certainly at odds with the ‘peace’ of Northern Ireland. As we wind our way through the peaceful-looking streets of Belfast, the Pangolin is a reminder that for many this is still a place of conflict. The crew are very aware of their environment. They are ready for anything. Eyes scan the streets. There is an uneasy feeling. I wonder if it is real or imagined.

We are on an active anti-terror patrol. What is sobering is that the would-be terrorists are not fanatical Islamic State thugs but home-grown activists intent on disrupting the peace process. The conflict lies between the two opposing communities: the Loyalists and the Republicans.

A large wall was erected between the two communities which is now nearly twenty feet tall and is referred to as the ‘peace wall’. Several gates within it are controlled remotely, allowing the police to close off the two roads, which they do every evening at around 9pm.

‘Kids often come along and block them with obstructions, then when we turn up to clear the debris, we sometimes come under attack,’ one of the officers tells me.

The walls are covered in murals from each side; the largely Catholic nationalists, or Republicans, have large murals of Gerry Adams and more intriguingly have now compared themselves to the PLO and Gaza, while around the corner are the Union flag-festooned murals of the largely Protestant Unionists, or Loyalists, intent on remaining within the British Union. Unusually, the Unionists have taken sides with Israel, and there are plenty of Israeli flags alongside Union flags in the city.