Civil servant: My memories of Stormont Castle in the turbulent days of the early 1970s

When Sinclair Duncan, now aged 95, took up a new post at the heart of government in 1970, little did he know how fast the political and security situation was about to decline
Sinclair Duncan joined Stormont Castle in January 1970Sinclair Duncan joined Stormont Castle in January 1970
Sinclair Duncan joined Stormont Castle in January 1970

It was with some trepidation that I approached the staff entrance to Stormont Castle in January 1970.

My concern was that, in my previous 20 years in the Northern Ireland Civil Service, my only connection with politics had been as a spectator.

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That was when, as the Staff Training Officer in the Ministry of Finance, I ran an induction course for newly-recruited clerks.

Sinclair Duncan, a retired civil servant, pictured at his Holywood home last week aged 95. Picture by Stephen DavisonSinclair Duncan, a retired civil servant, pictured at his Holywood home last week aged 95. Picture by Stephen Davison
Sinclair Duncan, a retired civil servant, pictured at his Holywood home last week aged 95. Picture by Stephen Davison

This included a visit to Question Time in the House of Commons.

I noted, as no doubt did my students, the high-handed and dismissive attitude of the unionist government towards the constitutional nationalists and the emergent Labour Party.

Perhaps even then, in the early 1960s, some of the seeds of the Peoples’ Democracy were sown?

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But back to the castle, the one-time grandiose residence of the Cleland family.

An RUC funeral. As the violence increased, to the question of government representation at funerals became an issueAn RUC funeral. As the violence increased, to the question of government representation at funerals became an issue
An RUC funeral. As the violence increased, to the question of government representation at funerals became an issue

In 1970 the occupants were the Cabinet Office, the Government Information Service and a flat for the then prime minister, Major James Chichester-Clark.

The Secretary to the Cabinet was Sir Harold Black, a wily old bird who walked the tight-rope between advising the government of the day and upholding the public interest.

His deputy was Ken (later Sir Kenneth) Bloomfield, the visionary who had since the time of Captain Terence O’Neill been advocating much-needed reforms at both Stormont and local government level.

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There was one other officer of my rank plus a small supporting staff. My office was the most spacious that I had in my 37 years’ service. It was shown on the old plans as the Billiards Room.

The then DUP leader Ian Paisley in August 1971. He phoned Stormont Castle on a Saturday after a bomb in west Belfast, demanding to speak to Brian Faulkner. When he could not said that he knew Mr Faulker was "chasing God's innocent creatures around the countryside"The then DUP leader Ian Paisley in August 1971. He phoned Stormont Castle on a Saturday after a bomb in west Belfast, demanding to speak to Brian Faulkner. When he could not said that he knew Mr Faulker was "chasing God's innocent creatures around the countryside"
The then DUP leader Ian Paisley in August 1971. He phoned Stormont Castle on a Saturday after a bomb in west Belfast, demanding to speak to Brian Faulkner. When he could not said that he knew Mr Faulker was "chasing God's innocent creatures around the countryside"

Later in this narrative, readers will see how it, and my future, were taken over by the direct rulers.

One of my regular jobs was that of note-taker at meetings of the cabinet.

Sir Harold Black and Ken Bloomfield sat with the ministers and participated in their discussions. I sat at a small side table and only spoke when spoken to.

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I soon learned that I was not required as a human dictaphone. What was required was a concise account of each item of business – how it arose, the main arguments and how the matter was disposed of.

Under Ken’s guidance and editing, I soon got the hang of it. The proceedings of a two-hour meeting could be recorded on two pages of type-script.

Those minutes had a wide circulation, including the Privy Council, the Home Office and the Public Record Office.

Should a matter likely to be contentious, a device was used by having first a ‘Meeting of Ministers’ (the minutes of which were only circulated internally) and when consensus was reached, and after a coffee break, the same ministers re-convened as the cabinet.

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Should a minister insist on his dissent being recorded at this stage, he was virtually offering his own resignation.

There was no Northern Ireland Office in 1970/71. Responsibility for our affairs lay with the Home Office (as did those of Wales). I do not know what its staffing was, but it must have been a tiny group, for in my routine dealings with them, I only seemed to encounter one man at my level — Philip Leyshon — with whom I developed a good working relationship.

The security situation deteriorated throughout 1970 and 1971. A problem arose over government representation at the funerals of members of the security services.

It was decided that it would be unwise for a minister to attend, as once the precedent was set, it would have to be followed in every case.

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The answer seemed to be to use a civil servant senior enough to know his way around but junior enough to be spared for what was often a full day away in border areas.

I fell into that category.

Ken Bloomfield impressed on me that there was no use just going unless I made myself known to all the right people, so I soon picked up the routine of presenting myself to the bereaved family, the chairman of the local council and the senior RUC or UDR Officer present.

Almost inevitably, I was sent home with angry messages about the lack of proper security — but it was done with great courtesy to me personally.

One particular funeral stands out in my mind — that of a UDR soldier in Enniskillen.

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The meeting place was the town mortuary. Having extended my political master’s condolences to the next-of-kin and shaken the hands of several local worthies,

I was invited by the UDR officers to accompany them inside the mortuary.

There they solemnly lifted the lids off two coffins to expose the bullet-riddled bodies of L/Cpl Thomas Bullock and his wife Emily who had been gunned down by the IRA in the doorway of their home.

All funerals are sad even for someone like myself with no emotional involvement — but this one shook me to the core.

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With the security situation deteriorating in March 1971, there was much coming and going between Stormont and London, culminating in a visit to Stormont by Lord Carrington, the secretary of state for Defence and the head of the army, known then as Chief of the Imperial General Staff.

I was not directly involved but the buzz coming down the corridor was that Major Chichester-Clark was getting nowhere in his appeal for additional troops and was contemplating resignation.

His draft formal letter to Prime Minister Edward Heath was, it was rumoured, a full-blooded Irish Guards fusillade.

Ministers and civil servants who would have to pick up the pieces apparently prevailed upon him to moderate the tone.

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This was where I came into play. It was a Saturday afternoon, and most of the junior staff in the castle had drifted away. There still remained a press release to be run off on an antiquated rotary duplicator.

Neither Maggie Bell, the prime minister’s social secretary nor I were licensed to drive an antiquated rotary duplicator and we made a right horlicks of it. Some pages came through blank, some over-inked, some with part of the text on one page and part on another. But in the end we got sufficient copies to give to the press waiting outside.

Come Monday morning, Brian Faulkner took over as NI prime minister.

Around this time, it was decided that it looked bad to have the phones in the Castle unmanned in the evenings and at weekends, and that we should have a Duty Officer in post.

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His job was to record all incoming calls and, if necessary, contact a senior officer or, come Direct Rule, the Duty Minister.

It was not an onerous task – the prime minister’s flat was now available, excellent main meals were sent up by the Stormont Hotel and if one was on good terms with Bob, the Castle Steward, there might be an opened bottle of wine lurking behind the Cornflakes packet in the kitchen.

My job was to take my place on the rota and to check the logs of colleagues brought in from outside the Castle.

One such colleague was Paddy Farrelly from the Ministry of Community Relations.

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On his first tour of duty he had the misfortune to encounter the formidable Beryl Holland from Bangor, who bombarded the Castle (and the Press) day and daily with complaints about the political situation and lack of security.

Paddy’s log had three entries on one evening -

18.00 About half a page

20.00 A couple of paragraphs

22.00 Mrs. Holland-Again-At length

One memorable phone call was on a Saturday afternoon from the Rev Ian Paisley, after a bomb explosion in West Belfast – He asked, naturally, to speak to Mr Faulkner.

I informed him Mr. Faulkner was not available, but I would take a message.

Rev Paisley “I know where Mr. Faulkner is – he’s chasing God’s innocent creatures across the countryside” (Mr. Faulkner’s love of hunting was common knowledge)

There followed a tirade of fire and brimstone.

I duly recorded a resume’ of his message.

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Much later in the evening I had another call from the Rev Paisley where he apologised to me for the tongue-lashing and explained that it had been a serious incident with loss of life and he had been phoning in the presence of several angry supporters and had to let them hear his protest.

I got on well with the Big Man thereafter.

Sinclair Duncan in the NI Civil Service from 1949 to 1985. He worked at in the ministries of Education, Finance and Agriculture, the Cabinet Office, Office of the Executive, NIO and the Department of Environment. He was awarded ISO in 1984. The rest of this memoir will be published each day in the News Letter this week.

Earlier parts below

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