Thomas Dixie Elliot ➤ Here's another story about Big Tom McElwee.

This happened sometime during the spring or summer in 1978. Life during the Blanket Protest held nothing but bad memories, so it is often hard to put an exact date on certain things which happened.

The two things that Big Tom loved at that time was a smoke - I didn't smoke thankfully - and his mug of tea.

Tom would often return from a visit with half of a tobacco factory inside his body.

However, it was his love of a mug of tea which got us both a kicking from the screws.

On one particular day the screws came round with the breakfast trolley. A blanket orderly, the lowest of the low, would hand you a tray of food, if food is what it was. Then he would fill up your plastic mug with tea from a big urn on the trolley.

Big Tom stepped forward and took his tray of food. Then the orderly started putting tea in his mug, stopping when the mug was only half filled.

Big Tom looked at him. The cocky bastard looked back at Tom with all the courage of a coward with a backing, who knows that those standing with him will save him from a beating.

"Fill it up," demanded Tom.

The orderly looked at the screw for backing.

"I said fill it up," repeated Tom.

The screw moved forward and pushed the cell door closed in Tom's face.

We sat down to our breakfast and Tom was seething with rage. I had gotten a full mug of tea. The bastards did petty things like handing out a large portion of food to one of us and barely anything on the plate of our cellmates so as to, hopefully, turn us against each other. It never worked as the food was evened out.

I offered Tom my mug of tea for his but he wouldn't have it so we evened our mugs up.

I knew that Tom wasn't going to let this go, so it wasn't a lump of food which stuck in my throat.

Sure enough, after we ate, Big Tom lifted the two pieces of foam that passed as mattresses and leaned them up against the wall. That was all we had in our cells, these two pieces of foam and a few thin blankets.

Normally after we had eaten we would leave our trays at the cell doors to be collected by the orderlies. They would reach in and lift them.

Tom left the two trays in the center of the cell and we stepped back to the window and waited. He had drawn the battle line on the ground.

After what seemed like an eternity the cell door opened and a bemused orderly looked in and saw that the two trays weren't at the door where they were supposed to be and noticed to his horror where they actually had been placed.

He looked, at the screw who knew fine rightly what was being played out, for direction.

"Go and get them," the screw ordered.

The orderly dashed forward hoping to get to the trays before Big Tom got to him.

How wrong was he. Big Tom sprang forward like a cat and hit the scumbag with an uppercut just as he was bending down.

The orderly fell backwards hard but managed to scamper out of the cell on all fours like the rat he was.

The screw slammed the cell door shut and we waited on the inevitable backlash.

I sat on the heating pipes in silent contemplation and I couldn't believe the first words that came out of Big Tom's mouth.

"Fuck but I could do with a smoke."

Sure enough the cell door was flung open and the screws rushed into our cell and laid into us with their boots and batons before we were dragged of to the boards.

The only good thing that came from it, was that they never half-filled our mugs with tea again.


Thomas Dixie Elliot is a Derry artist and a former H Block Blanketman.

Follow Dixie Elliot on Twitter @IsMise_Dixie    

Mug Of Tea And A Smoke

Thomas Dixie Elliot ➤ Here's another story about Big Tom McElwee.

This happened sometime during the spring or summer in 1978. Life during the Blanket Protest held nothing but bad memories, so it is often hard to put an exact date on certain things which happened.

The two things that Big Tom loved at that time was a smoke - I didn't smoke thankfully - and his mug of tea.

Tom would often return from a visit with half of a tobacco factory inside his body.

However, it was his love of a mug of tea which got us both a kicking from the screws.

On one particular day the screws came round with the breakfast trolley. A blanket orderly, the lowest of the low, would hand you a tray of food, if food is what it was. Then he would fill up your plastic mug with tea from a big urn on the trolley.

Big Tom stepped forward and took his tray of food. Then the orderly started putting tea in his mug, stopping when the mug was only half filled.

Big Tom looked at him. The cocky bastard looked back at Tom with all the courage of a coward with a backing, who knows that those standing with him will save him from a beating.

"Fill it up," demanded Tom.

The orderly looked at the screw for backing.

"I said fill it up," repeated Tom.

The screw moved forward and pushed the cell door closed in Tom's face.

We sat down to our breakfast and Tom was seething with rage. I had gotten a full mug of tea. The bastards did petty things like handing out a large portion of food to one of us and barely anything on the plate of our cellmates so as to, hopefully, turn us against each other. It never worked as the food was evened out.

I offered Tom my mug of tea for his but he wouldn't have it so we evened our mugs up.

I knew that Tom wasn't going to let this go, so it wasn't a lump of food which stuck in my throat.

Sure enough, after we ate, Big Tom lifted the two pieces of foam that passed as mattresses and leaned them up against the wall. That was all we had in our cells, these two pieces of foam and a few thin blankets.

Normally after we had eaten we would leave our trays at the cell doors to be collected by the orderlies. They would reach in and lift them.

Tom left the two trays in the center of the cell and we stepped back to the window and waited. He had drawn the battle line on the ground.

After what seemed like an eternity the cell door opened and a bemused orderly looked in and saw that the two trays weren't at the door where they were supposed to be and noticed to his horror where they actually had been placed.

He looked, at the screw who knew fine rightly what was being played out, for direction.

"Go and get them," the screw ordered.

The orderly dashed forward hoping to get to the trays before Big Tom got to him.

How wrong was he. Big Tom sprang forward like a cat and hit the scumbag with an uppercut just as he was bending down.

The orderly fell backwards hard but managed to scamper out of the cell on all fours like the rat he was.

The screw slammed the cell door shut and we waited on the inevitable backlash.

I sat on the heating pipes in silent contemplation and I couldn't believe the first words that came out of Big Tom's mouth.

"Fuck but I could do with a smoke."

Sure enough the cell door was flung open and the screws rushed into our cell and laid into us with their boots and batons before we were dragged of to the boards.

The only good thing that came from it, was that they never half-filled our mugs with tea again.


Thomas Dixie Elliot is a Derry artist and a former H Block Blanketman.

Follow Dixie Elliot on Twitter @IsMise_Dixie    

6 comments:

  1. Sean Mallory writes

    To say I enjoyed that Dixie is not to take away from the everyday appalling psychological mind games that the pawns of the British State played against you and the other fellas on the blanket ... those were the days where the mind spent most of its time continually on high alert ... a state of mind that lasted far too long ... keep the stories coming for it is the small victories suffered through brutal injury that makes understanding the total cruelty of the blanket possible ...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Dixie captures the atmosphere so well it is almost graphic.

    I remember talking to big Tom the day they both came back and at mass the following day.

    The orderlies could be low life. There was one who used to wear the screws' cap when he would come to the door.

    The worst could be those from nationalist areas. Paradoxically, those who had loyalist connections were far better, much as they were at the start of the blanket protest when, as Paul McGlinchey pointed out, they would leave Mars Bars or tobacco under the pillow for the lads.





    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. AM,

      Why would the screw from Nationalist backgrounds be worse? To curry favour from other screws?

      Delete
    2. Steve - I was referring to orderlies, not screws.

      Some of them were the hoods who had endless run ins with republicans when they were out. Others wanted to show that they were as fit for purpose as the orderlies from the unionist community. One had been charged with membership of the IRA and rape! He was never a republican but his brother had been killed while an IRA volunteer.
      in 1980 in H4 we ended up with two Catholic brothers from Lurgan doing orderly but they gave no hassle whatsoever.
      The one who wore the screw's cap was from a place called Cullybackey, right beside Ballymena. The screws called him Cullybackey and we called him Donkey Head. Dixie might remember him. It might even have been him that Tom chinned.

      Delete
  3. Graphic stuff is right Tony — if you didn’t laugh you would cry. It’s painful to think of what was done to the men in there.

    ReplyDelete
  4. By this point TPQ policy should be pretty clear.

    If you wish to have your comment published do not use the "Unknown" pseudonym.

    Use whatever other handle you choose so long as it does not clash with any other user.

    ReplyDelete