Pat and I met in the 1960’s and were married in September 1971 in St. Patrick’s Cathedral Armagh; the place of our frequent worship, where we made our vows, where our children were baptised but which later became a very difficult place to visit. We spent our honeymoon in Majorca - two weeks in the sun in those days cost us fifty-four pounds and ten shillings each! On return we went to live in a house in Desert Lane, Armagh, which we bought just before our wedding.

Pat joined the prison service in January 1969 and was stationed in the Crumlin Road Prison, Belfast. He then went to Millisle to the Prison Service College where all the staff were sent to train, before returning to the ‘The Crum' as it was known. Then, in August that same year, the troubles started; the British army were brought in to help restore order to our country that was now rife with civil unrest: bombings, fires and shootings - Life was scary then. All towns were manned by soldiers and travelling anywhere was done with great difficulty. You were stopped and searched by soldiers at the barriers - bags and all. Getting down on your hands and knees to check for car bombs, every time before driving became normality. The children would often ask me why I had to check under the car before we got in, so I would always drop my keys and pretend I was just picking them up. As far as the children were aware at that time, their father was a bus driver; we didn’t want them to worry. After some time, you got used to it and got on with life the best you could. But as time progressed, things got worse: bombings, shootings, it even reached a point where Pat had to sleep with a gun under his pillow. The police and the army were the main targets for terrorist attacks. This was no place to start a life together; this was a war zone. On 5th August 1971, the government brought internment into effect; men and boys who were deemed to be affiliated with these terrorist organisations were ripped out of their homes and jailed without being convicted of any crimes.

Whilst bombings and robberies were on the rise, daily, threats were being made to local prominent political figureheads and to Prison Staff alike. Pat was transferred to Castledillon and from there to Armagh. The prison staff made the most of life in the small ways they could; the ‘tea float’ that snowballed from cups of tea to organising occasional dances in the local T.A. centre, which we all attended. There was deep camaraderie among all prison officers, accompanied by a fierce sense of humour that I personally believe to have been the dominant coping mechanism when paralleled with the harsh reality of the world that was around us. In 1974, Pat was transferred to Long Kesh, which became known as the Maze Prison. He continued his service in the Maze, while I continued in a local school, where I had been working for over thirteen years. In 1975, we had our first child, Deirdre. Her birth was a huge joy in our lives and a shining light amidst the darkness of those dreadful times. A few short months after her birth, Internment had ended, but the troubles seemed to be getting worse.

For as long as I live, I will never forget the day that my daughter was nearly shot dead in my arms; It was early in August 1976, Pat had just arrived home from a shift. It was getting on in the evening and I had to bring Deirdre upstairs to bed. My attention was taken by a programme on TV, I had already started making my way up stairs, only to revert a few steps back in fixation with the television programme. All of a sudden, there was the most unmerciful banging, cracking, glass shattering sounds you’ve ever heard in your life. I plummeted to the ground with my arm around little Deirdre. Pat started to scream “Get down! Get down!” then all went disturbingly quiet. I was so frightened it felt like my heart had stopped. Was I breathing? Was my daughter breathing? By the skin of our teeth, we somehow managed to dodge the bullets; We were shot out of our home. I remember crawling over pieces of broken glass to get to Pat. When we were brave enough to stand to our feet, I recall looking around my hallway that was now covered in bullet holes, thinking ‘that could have been the end’. Within an hour of the attack, we had to leave our home and seek refuge with my parents. For our own security, Pat had to stay with a friend and fellow officer, who lived nearby. We were effectively homeless. Late September, we bought a new house in Armagh and by mid-October, we were finally moved in. Pat was still at the Maze. The humour among staff persisted, I recall Pat coming home from work always filling me in on the latest stitch-up among the prison staff - finding humour really was the only way to distract them all from the harsh reality of what was going on. Amongst themselves, there were lots of group activities organised to help keep up morale: Photography club, football team, fishing and even a video club where they could rent and swap videos with one another such as Disney films to take home to watch with their children. The real icing on the cake was most definitely the Friday night country and western dances - because the wives could go too!

Despite the anarchy around us, we were blessed with two more children: Gregory in 1978 and Kristin in 1980. Pat was a tremendous father and when he wasn’t at work, would spend every hour he had at home with the children. We had an old trailer to hand as a result of Pat’s fondness of ‘DIY’ around the house - I’ll not get into the ins and outs of it, but let’s just say there were a few too many leaks and loose nails for my liking. Pat was just a big kid himself; he’d often put the kids in the back of the trailer and do a loop around the road. The children would be laughing together in the back as they bounced over the bumpy road like space hoppers. It’s the laughter and those candid family moments that I cherish dearly. Despite our endeavours for a simple family life, disasters were still occurring on a daily basis. Then, in 1979, Armagh prison was bombed. Three female staff were going on their tea break when they were caught in the blast: Agnes Wallace sadly lost her life whilst Mabel Hampton and Geraldine Hutchenson were both severely injured. All the while, the awful mayhem persisted causing turmoil in the prisons with consistent rioting in both the Maze and Magilligan. It was a very hairy time for us all. On the back of internment, we had the dirty protest, the hunger strike, the great fire and the great escape.

The threat at this time was on prison staff too and that made it worse for us at home. Our house was fortified by the government: bulletproof windows on the ground floor, automatic garage doors, security flood lights and mirrors. Even in your own home, you never felt safe. As parents, we were desperately clinging for a normal a family life as possible, in the middle of an impossible situation. My children were not allowed to answer the phone or the door.

On 17th February 1985, Pat’s 37th Birthday, he brought Gregory aged eight and Kristin, aged four to Sunday mass. I had to attend Pat’s uncle’s funeral in Castleblaney in the Republic of Ireland and took Deirdre with me. For obvious security reasons, Pat couldn’t travel over the border. Security was not only the backbone of Pat’s career, but was now embedded in every inch of our day-to-day activity. Of course, you think being with your family to attend mass together you would be safe, but that was far from the events that then unfolded. On stepping out of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, heading towards the car with our children in both his hands, Pat was savagely shot and murdered by masked gunmen of the provisional Irish republican army. Pat’s funeral was an immensely difficult time for us all and I want to acknowledge the support we received from the Prison Officer’s Association across Northern Ireland, England, Wales, Scotland and Southern Ireland, without which, I dread to think where we would have been. Pat was the main earner in our family, even though I also worked full time. We received a civil service pension, but it was not nearly enough to meet the bills coming in each month, therefore I had to take on private catering contracts to make ends meet so that my children could still have some quality of life. I had to keep my family together both mentally and financially whilst enduring my own insurmountable grief.

It wasn’t until I joined Women Against Violence Empowered (WAVE) that my eyes were opened to opportunities I never knew beforehand were within in my reach. I became great friends with an ex part-time police reserve and full-time home economics teacher, Hazel, who a few years prior to us meeting, was attacked and injured in a shooting in Lurgan. On my discovery that the very people who put us through the most unimaginable suffering, were actually getting more government support than any of the victims’ families, I knew at that very moment, it was my duty to take serious action. We had the tremendous privilege of traveling to the United States with WAVE to bring forth our case. Organised by the Eastern Mennonite University, Harrisonburg, Virginia, we spent ten days on a very intense schedule with nine-hour days and one break per day for lunch. We received thorough PTSD training on dealing with conflict, resolution and terrorism. This education and support was not only hugely beneficial to my own life in deeply understanding of the matter at hand, but also gave me to tools to filter that same knowledge down to my children to help them understand exactly what happened and how some day they would be able to come to terms with their father’s murder. We also spent our final week in Boston College learning how to deal with trauma, with reconciliation through art and music as means of diverting from the trauma we were left to bare. Before Boston, we flew to Washington to Lobby both the Irish and British Ambassadors with our plights.

Never in my life did I dream of being in the White House, but there I was, with President Bill Clinton and First Lady, Hillary Clinton. We spoke to them and explained quite clearly, the injustice and lack of support we were given back home. What the President and First Lady really couldn’t believe was that our support group for victims, meant victims across the board, no matter what side of the pond you were on. There we all were, joined together under the same umbrella of grief, trying to cope with the ripples of terrorism. Even though sectarianism was the cause of the N. Ireland conflict, there we stood, united; protestants, catholics, service people, republicans, unionists - petitioning for peace. Hillary in particular took great care in listening to these women’s stories. Not only was that a day to remember for the reason of being in the White House, but as we were there, we were informed that the Good Friday Agreement had just been signed.

Upon my return home, I discovered I had received a lot of calls from the ‘Prison Service N. Ireland’. I returned a call to the director of prisons, only thrilled to inform them on where I had been and why I was in the States, speaking on behalf of widows and injured staff of the prison service N.I, assuming that I would be greeted with a hearty response. Well, what a disappointment that was… I then contacted the Benevolent Fund, explaining the same to them and tried to seek their help in starting up an organisation that would effectively help those in desperate need (injured staff & widows). I approached them on countless occasions, but my last approach was one that I most certainly will never forget. Their response to me was simply, “But Moira, it’s too late for the widows now, they are all too old…”. For anyone that knows me, you can imagine my reaction. It was like a red flag to a bull! In touching base with Hazel to see if she made any progress, I was delighted to hear that she had managed to get a lot further on than I did; I was disheartened that I hadn’t achieved a similar outcome. We got back in touch with Sandra from WAVE again and she suggested I get in touch with Finlay Spratt which I did and he set up a meeting at the POA office in Millisle to hear all the concerns of widows.He was reluctant at first to meet with widows of murdered Officers as he believed their needs should have addressed by the Benevolent Fund but I explained to him that the Benevolent Fund had been approached but were not interested.  At the meeting with widows in Millisle they explained that their concerns were not being listened to by the Benevolent Fund and implored him to help.  A plan was then put in place by Finlay Spratt and June Robinson who approached the government in 1998.

I can’t begin to explain the amount of work it took from Finlay and June over the following three years to try and get the green light. It wasn’t until the Minister of State, Adam Ingram heard about the work we were doing and approved a grant to officially get us up and running as the ‘Prison Service Trust’. Their sheer determination, understanding and persistence was nothing short of extraordinary in the weeks, months and years of research, campaigning, board-meetings and court hearings that they underwent to fight for justice. Finlay’s bravery and righteousness in representing our cause, endeavouring for equity for the futures of the families affected, will be remembered down through generations to come. I only sowed the seed, but Finlay and June are the reason we can now all sit comfortably under the maple tree. They realised the seriousness of the matter at hand and fought our corner; without their tactful input on this arduous journey, I dread to think where we might still be.

I have to declare, that through the most unthinkable of circumstances that my family and I have endured, it has been the highlight of my life to have played this small role in inaugurating what has now become, the Prison Service Trust. I take comfort in knowing that I too fought the people’s fight and did everything in my power to ensure that support was given to 837 clients and growing, in the rippling effects of terrorism. I was honoured to be offered a seat on the Board of Directors when the Trust was set up and the Board of Directors should be proud of the campaign pursued over the past seventeen years to get a Garden of Remembrance established at Hydebank Wood in memory of our murdered loved ones who paid the ultimate sacrifice.  It is a fitting tribute to their memory. 

Finally, I would like to place on record as a member of the Board of Directors and a widow my gratitude to the Department of Justice and Prison Service management staff at Dundonald House who continue to allocate funding to the Trust and provide invaluable assistance year on year.

 

Mrs Moira Kerr