Kate Rice ✍ The name Michael Montgomery is well-known in the city of Derry.

In 1973, Michael Montgomery became Derry's first Republican Clubs councillor under the new local-government system - he was deeply involved in his community, often found helping with housing and advocating for the rights of the working-class people of the city. Michael Montgomery was also a Hooded Man.
For those perhaps unaware, the Hooded Men were a group of 14 men unfairly removed from their homes and interned without trial under circumstances that we would consider utterly inhuman. I do not seek to repeat the details of what terrible things were done to these men, for the sake of their loved ones who may read this and do not need to be reminded of the cruelty that was inflicted on these men without justifiable cause. Without detailing, their case has been acknowledged by organisations such as Amnesty International and The Law Society of Ireland, and investigated for the disgraceful handling of these men, using methods we now call the Five Techniques of sensory deprivation.
If I were to talk purely about what was done to these men, I would write for pages for there is no simple way to describe the injustice of it. But today I would like to write instead about Michael Montgomery.
Michael was a husband, and a father. The family of five were deeply woven into the culture of Derry and Michael was greatly respected for the care and effort he put in for the constituents of the city. Michael was fond of James Connolly, and he was a socialist. He was deeply fond of his children, and supported his daughter Fiona’s education in catering college. His children have spoken of their memories of constant visitors to their door, seeking Michael’s assistance in some matter or other.
He was trusted. He was respected. The family lived in Creggan. In 1971, their house was raided and Michael Montgomery was dragged into the street. He was kicked in the groin. The armed men taking him pointed their weapons at his children. One of his children, Deirdre, remembers chasing the Saracen down the street, demanding Michael’s return, and hiding her baby sister in an electric box out of fear of the men taking her father. Thus began Michael's experience as one of the Hooded Men. He was among those taken to the special interrogation centre in August 1971, where the five techniques were used. His wife and children were told he had been killed. Michael himself was led to believe his family had been killed. They did not see him until weeks later in Crumlin Gaol, broken and hurting from the treatment he had been subjected to.
Despite being elected as a councilman in 1973, Michael could not recover from what was done to him. According to daughter Fiona in an interview with the Bloody Sunday Trust Interviews, he startled at the sound of the hoover, at the sound of the washing machine, at the sound of the newspaper. He cried downstairs alone while his children slept upstairs. His marriage fell apart. Michael Montgomery died from a heart attack in 1984 at just 48 years of age, permanently altered by what he had experienced.
I write about Michael Montgomery today, because I am lucky enough to know and love his daughter Deirdré as though she was a member of my own family. I have heard her experiences, her fright. Her memories of that day and how the cruelty her father was subjected to was not always restrained just to him. I write about Michael Montgomery today because he should be remembered. He should be thought about, and known and respected. None of those men should rest forgotten. As a child, Deirdré wrote a poem about her father which I have inserted below.
Creggan Derry Aug. 9th 1971 we were put to bed. So late my cousin shoved us up the stairs, we thought she had a date.
We were laughing, singing lying in the bed when at the door it wasn't her, a man with a gun instead!
"Get to sleep now yous'ns and be quiet here tonight"
Little did we know we would be awake before the light, men in uniforms standing over us with guns?
My father being dragged down
the stairs, them kicking him in the groin. My grandfather cursing for upsetting us "they're to blame!"
My cousin Betty roaring "don't touch her she's a wane", the soldier with the gun there sticking in my face.
"Why is this man in my house this is not his place!"
Then my da went missing, ten days we didn't know, we got a call then after that the Crum we had to go.
So to Belfast we made the trek, my mother then and me, we saw my father sitting there Oh god this could not be!
For he was bent and broken, his eyes still glistened, though we were all okay, and he was glad to know.
They'd told him they had killed us an accident you see.
You've nothing left now Michael one of us you'll have thank.
God thank you he's an Irish man so brave and yet so true, he knew his fight for Ireland and continue is what he'd do!
Two screws came to grab a hold of me to stop me crying sore, my daddy's standing hurting when another one comes through the door.
I am only 8 years old why are they doing this to me?
I don't want their medicine in just upset.
Can't they see today its decade's later children going to see their dads . . . and it is no different today from the visits that I had!
We still love to see our daddy's. But the hassle is so great.
God let the day come when they smile to see him walking freely through the gate!
It has been my great honour to learn about Michael Montgomery, and my great horror to learn of what happened to him and those 13 men who suffered with him. I would ask you to please join me in remembering this husband, father and good man.
I am the betting horse,
Lay on your whip and your blinkers;
Lash my back and cover my eyes
Run me ragged on your circle track
And raise your golden trophy.
I am the victor who returns,
my home unadorned,
my foals searching for comfort
my earned rest and a finish line.
my bed untouched and mine alone,
and you must return your trophy eventually - KR.
⏩Kate Rice is a peace baby.



















