‘I REMEMBER HEARING THIS ALMIGHTY EXPLOSION... AND I JUST KNEW’
John Maxwell’s son Paul was killed by the bomb that blew up Lord Mountbatten. Now, as Prince Charles returns to the scene, John is torn by the question no father should ever have to face
AGOTHIC stone building, standing remote and solitary, dominates the landscape near the cliff edge overlooking the Atlantic. Silhouetted against the shady valleys of the Benbulben skyline, Classiebawn Castle, with its fairytale turrets and melancholy beauty, rises up like a kneeling giant.
Far below, in the bucolic village of Mullaghmore, the sun sparkles across the rippling waters of Donegal Bay like stardust. Fishing boats, laden with brightly- coloured lobster pots, bob and chime inside the 19th- century stone harbour walls. Even without knowing of the events which took place 36 years ago, this is an atmospheric, eerie place.
It is a warm, sun-drenched afternoon under the shadow of the Dartry Mountains — a day much like the one at Mullaghmore harbour on August 27, l979. On that day, an old fishing boat called Shadow V, painted i n Mountbatten green, puttered out through the harbour and into the bay. At the helm was Earl Mountbatten of Burma, godson to Britain’s Queen Victoria, great uncle to the Prince of Wales, the last Viceroy of India and former Supreme Allied Commander during the Second World War.
He was joined by his twin grandsons, Timothy and Nicolas Knatchbull, their parents John and Patricia Brabourne, their grandmother the Dowager Lady Brabourne and local boat boy, 15-year-old Paul Maxwell.
Fifteen minutes after they had set off, only a couple of hundred yards out into the bay, the family pleasure boat, which was packed with 50lb of gelignite, was blown to smithereens. The bomb was detonated from shore by the IRA.
The explosion killed four — including the 79-year- old Mountbatten and his 14-year- old grandson Nicholas — and seriously injured three others.
Hours later, the IRA blew up 18 British soldiers at Warrenpoint in Co. Down, heralding the day a propaganda and military success. For those who lost loved ones, however, a day that began as a picture-perfect idyll became the darkest day of their lives.
‘It was a beautiful summer’s day,’ recalls Paul Maxwell’s father John. ‘The sun was shining, there were no clouds in the sky. I knew Paul was out on the boat and I knew the route they took every day when they went out.
‘I was sitting at the back of the cottage sunbathing when I heard this God almighty explosion. I said, “That’s got to be where that boat is.” I just knew. I had heard explosions in Enniskillen with the Troubles so I knew that sound. I just knew it had to be the boat. It was the most horrible feeling.’
John, now 78, and first wife, Mary, spent their summer holidays with their three teenage children, Donna, Paul and Lisa, at the family’s holiday cottage at Mullaghmore. It was there that Paul got a job on Lord Mountbatten’s boat.
‘He was very fond of the sea,’ says John. ‘I took him out on the sea a lot when he was young, particularly around Mullaghmore. He used to go out around the harbour with local boatmaker Rodney Lomax. It was Rodney who recommended him to Lord Mountbatten. He had only started but he was really loving it. He thought, “Wow this is a fantastic opportunity.”’
The night before the ill-fated fishing trip on August 27, Libyan-trained IRA bomb maker Thomas McMahon slipped aboard Lord Mountbatten’s unguarded 29-foot cruiser. Shielded by the darkness, he fitted a radio-controlled bomb under the engine. As it detonated, the explosion filled the sky with a shower of emerald-green splinters. Not far from the shoreline off Mullaghmore head, the sea became streaked with blood.
‘As soon as I heard it go off I jumped into my car and drove around the headland to where I thought it was,’ says John. ‘All I could see were bits of wood floating about.
‘The sea was all churned up where the boat had sunk. You could see exactly where it happened. I thought, “Nobody could have survived that”.
‘I then went round to the harbour and got a friend of mine who I knew very well to bring me out in his boat to see what the story was. Of course, when I got round there, there was nothing. But lots of boats had appeared at that stage. They had heard the explosion. There was a flotilla of boats searching the water. But there was nothing except bodies recovered.’
One of the boats belonged to Richard Wood-Martin and his wife Elizabeth. The couple, now in their 80s, live in a cottage overlooking Donegal Bay. Originally farmers from Sligo, they spent every summer in Mullaghmore — and 20 years ago moved here permanently. ‘On the day it happened we were about 200m stern of Shadow,’ recalls Richard. ‘I was actually looking at Shadow when there was a loud bang, a puff of smoke and a shower of little bits of timber. The boat was gone.’
According to Detective Garda Eddie MacHale, in reports at the time, Paul Maxwell had been standing right over the engine. Lord Mountbatten is believed to have drowned after being blown into the water. The third casualty that day was Nicholas Knatchbull. His twin brother Timothy lay floating in the water, scorched and deafened, with his lungs filling with blood, until the WoodMartin’s pulled him to safety.
‘Most of people on the boat were blown to the right-hand side,’ says Richard. ‘But there was one head on the left hand side and we went towards that.
‘At first we thought it was a football. Elizabeth grabbed him by the hair and we pulled him, with some difficulty, on to the boat.’
The couple, who had set out that day to check their lobster pots, saved 14- year-old Timothy’s life. ‘ He was semiconscious,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I remember he said to me, “I’m so cold,” so we wrapped him up in our bathing towels to try and keep him warm. We lay him down on the floorboards and headed back to the harbour,
‘It was a journey that took about 15 minutes to come back, the engine wasn’t running properly that day. It seemed to take a lifetime.’
Meanwhile, amid the chaos at the harbour, Paul Maxwell’s body arrived on Gus Mulligan’s boat, where it was discovered by Paul’s distraught father, John Maxwell.
‘A friend of mine had picked up Paul’s body,’ says John. ‘He was obviously in shock as well. I went over and he was lying in the boat, on the deck. I still remember the detail... It was horrible. He was dead. There was no way he was alive. So I sat and cried for a long while. I was angry, I was very angry actually. When I arrived back in the harbour and they took Paul’s body out I just lost the head. I was roaring and shouting all over the place. Then, all of a sudden, it just left me, in a flash. I have never felt that angry before or since.’
The dead and injured were laid out in front of the local hotel before the ambulances arrived. Lady Brabourne died in Sligo General Hospital the following day. Patrica Brabourne came round in intensive care, her son Timothy alongside her. She was told her other son hadn’t survived. The family dog, Twiga, also perished.
‘I don’t remember a great deal about what happened after,’ recalls John Maxwell. ‘I had to tell the family, which was difficult. The loss was devastating. For a time it seemed like a dream, like it had never happened. I never forget it. It never leaves you actually. You just learn to cope.
‘We had a lot of support from friends. I hadn’t realised that before in my life, but if something like that happens you feel the regard and love that other people have for you that is very meaningful. It helped me a lot to get over it.’
IRA man Thomas McMahon from south Armagh served 19 years for planting the bomb on the boat. He was released under the Good Friday Agreement in 1998. His alleged accomplice Francis McGirl — who died in a tractor accident in 1995 — was acquitted.
Reports at the time spoke of a third accomplice, never caught, believed to have detonated the bomb.
‘ Thomas McMahon and Francis McGirl — those are two names I will never forget,’ John says. ‘I made an
‘There was nothing except bodies recovered’
‘I sat and cried for a long while, I was very angry’
attempt, through an intermediary, a priest, to meet Thomas McMahon. I knew it would be taking a chance.
‘If there was any kind of remorse, hopefully I could have seen it. That in a strange kind of way would have helped me. But if it had been the other way, and he showed no remorse, it would have set me back further. But it never happened.’
In memory of his son, John became a champion for integrated schooling in Northern Ireland.
He established the Erne Integrated Primary School in Enniskillen and believes that educating children from different backgrounds under the same roof can eliminate sectarianism. Working towards peace and reconciliation through education has helped him cope with his loss, but can he forgive the men who caused it?
‘I’ve been asked do I forgive him before,’ he says. ‘A lot depends on what he [McMahon] would say to me if I met him, which is something I would still consider doing. But the response would have to be right. In a kind of way it’s a selfish thing, to make things easier in my own mind.’
Thirty-six years on, the only memorial in Mullaghmore is a simple green cross overlooking the stretch of sea where the attack took place.
John still has a holiday home in the village, but his visits are often filled with memories of that day. ‘Some days I go there and it’s fine,’ he says. ‘Other days it’s not and I get in the car and drive home again. It just depends. It’s very difficult to ascertain in advance what you are going to feel. Going around the headland is quite difficult. You can see where it happened, where my first view of looking over and seeing all the wood scattered was. It’s a horrific flashback to have. I have never been out on a boat there since. It would be too difficult for me.’
The imposing Classiebawn, built by Lord Palmerston and inherited through Mountbatten’s wife, Edwina Ashley, remains occupied. Hugh Tunney, a butcher’s apprentice who became one of the country’s leading businessmen, leased the house from the Mountbattens in 1975 — on the proviso that they kept it each August — and bought it outright in 1992.
Tunney died five years ago, but his partner Caroline Devine still lives there, and has preserved i t as a shrine, allowing the Mountbatten family to visit whenever they want. An intriguing tomb of a world gone by, the old records, board games and books are kept just as they were in 1979. Sadly, it is closed to the public.
‘Everything remains exactly as it was the morning Lord Mountbatten left,’ she says.
Locals still refer to it as ‘Mountbatten’s castle’. Many still grieve the death of the man they called Lord Louis, who came with his family to stay each summer and was regarded as one of their own. The family would arrive by ferry to Dublin and decamp northwest to Classiebawn Castle, usually for the entire month of August. He was a regular sight shrimping off the harbour bridge with his grandchildren, dressed in corduroy trousers and a tatty pullover.
The manor house provided employment to many, including housekeeper Philomena Barry and her son Pat, now 63, who started working as a waiter there in 1965.
‘It was our Camelot,’ he recalls, clutching an autographed book he was given by Mountbatten. ‘Another life. I served at formal occasions, but also at breakfast, lunch and dinner. I did all the parties as well. They took me in and treated me like family.
‘They were quite ordinary and down to earth. Sometimes they would take me out on the boat. Those are good memories, fishing and sightseeing. They liked Inishmurray, an ancient monastic island a few miles off the coast. They would take picnics and go swimming.’
Outside of the summer, Pat was invited to Broadlands to work, where Prince Charles was a regular visitor.
‘I was at Broadlands for three years,’ he says. ‘I met Prince Charles there when he was a young man. He was very warm and down to earth. He had a very close relationship with Lord Mountbatten, there was a special connection there. Prince Charles could never visit him here for security reasons. This visit [of Prince Charles and Camilla] will be very emotional for him, a sad journey in a way, but one that might help to heal.’
In Mullaghmore, the appalling legacy of what happened on that dark day in August 1979 is far from forgotten. The tragedy had a profound effect on Pat personally, and others who witnessed it. ‘I was shattered,’ he says. ‘I was numb... I couldn’t believe he was gone. You felt like you were part of a family and that family had been ripped apart. A dark cloud hung over Mullaghmore for many years after. Personally I would have really preferred to be out of the place. It just didn’t seem beautiful any more to me. I still feel like that. I will never forget them, the family. That attachment will always be there.’
Prince Charles and Camilla will this week become the first members of the royal family to visit Mullaghmore since the attack. It will be a deeply personal pilgrimage — one to signal a new era in Anglo-Irish relations.
In the village on Thursday, where English and German accents mingled among those of holidaymakers closer to home, preparations were being made for the historic visit. Helicopters hovered overhead, gardaí patrolled the harbour and council workers tended to the public greenery.
On the main road leading into the village, Rodney Lomax’s wife Trudy stood outside the boat yard that carries his name. Mr Lomax, who looked after Shadow V and got Paul Maxwell a job on Mounbtatten’s boat, died of heart failure just before Christmas.
‘Its an emotional time for me,’ she says. ‘I wish Rodney had been here to see this.’
Outside the entrance l odge of Classiebawn Castle, workers were busy cleaning the inscribed initials of the castle’s most distinguished former resident. The Mountbatten ‘M of B’ still adorns the entrance gate to the castle.
The crest bears the ancient French motto Honi soit qui mal y pense — Evil be to him who evil thinks.
‘It felt like my family had been ripped apart’