Cathy Dillon: A reporter remembers the Air India Disaster of June 23rd, 1985
The date was June 24th, 1985, the day after the Air India disaster, when a terrorist bomb blew up a 747 jumbo jet in Irish airspace off the coast of West Cork, killing all 329 people on board. A wannabe journalist, straight out of college and working in the shambolic newsroom of a local pirate radio station, I had been sent by the head of news to report from Cork airport for the six o'clock evening bulletin. When I arrived at the normally sleepy airport terminal, lugging my enormous and ungainly tape recorder, I could hardly believe my eyes. Teams of army and navy personnel, security men and ambulance staff jostled with large crowds of reporters from news channels and papers throughout the world.
Amid the throng, I spied Nell McCafferty, small in stature but definitely not in personality, instantly recognisable from the telly with her head of bushy grey hair. While the other reporters ran around in a tizzy, she stood and surveyed the scene coolly, her hands in the pockets of her jeans.
I was awe struck – I had grown up reading her brilliant series of court reports, In the Eyes of the Law, in
The Irish Times,
and in our house we regularly used her wry TV sign-off phrase: 'Goodnight, Sisters' among ourselves, with a roll of our eyes, in response to some particularly egregious instance of chauvinism that had been brought to our attention.
I somehow made myself walk over to her and introduce myself. Sensing I was slightly at a loss in this melee, Nell was kind enough to take the greenhorn under her wing. She had heard that some of the media were being taken out on helicopters to survey and photograph the crash scene.
READ MORE
'Hello there,' she greeted the security officer. 'How are ya?' The man in the high-vis vest instantly recognised the face. 'Ah, 'tis yourself, Nell.'
'Listen, I was wondering is there any chance you could get me and the wee girl here out on one of the choppers?' The man in the high-vis vest looked dubious. 'Oh,' he said, shaking his head, 'I don't know. I don't think so.'
Nell waited a few moments and then tried another tack. 'Did anyone ever tell you you're the image of Jack Nicholson?' she said flirtatiously. She turned to me, standing meekly beside her. 'Isn't he the head off Jack Nicholson?'
I couldn't see the resemblance myself, but I wasn't about to argue.
The crash site was 190km off the coast of Mizen, where Irish Naval Service crewmen, assisted by RAF and Royal Naval helicopters as well as merchant ships and fishing trawlers, were searching for bodies that could be returned to the victims' relatives. Nell was doing her best to get us right to the grim heart of the action.
On this rare occasion, even Nell's charm couldn't prevail and I, at least, never got out on the helicopter. In truth, though of course I didn't say this to Nell, I was partly relieved. I left and went about finding others to talk to and filed my report by phone from the airport. I never met Nell afterwards, either, or got a chance to thank her, though I was lucky enough to share one space – the list of contributors' in
Hot Press
magazine – with her (and many others) in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
The incident showed me that kindness and humour can survive in the bleakest of circumstances. Air India flight 182 was on its way from Toronto via Montreal to London and New Delhi, and the majority of the passengers were Canadians of Indian descent. The main suspects in the bombing were members of the Sikh militant group Babbar Khalsa. After a fraught investigation that lasted almost 20 years, in 2003 Inderjit Singh Reyat, a Canadian national, was sentenced to 15 years in prison for building the bomb that exploded aboard Flight 182 and another that went off prematurely at Narita airport in Tokyo and killed two baggage handlers. He was freed in February last year.
In 2010, a report by a commission of inquiry found the victims' families had been left in a limbo by the Canadian government, and had 'often been treated as adversaries, as if they had somehow brought this calamity upon themselves'. After 25 years, the prime minister of the day, Stephen Harper, issued an apology on behalf of the government.
The local people in West Cork, as is their wont, showed great compassion to the bereaved relatives who arrived immediately after the disaster and some struck up friendships with them that have lasted over the decades.
Some of the families, seeking to find the nearest land point to where the plane disintegrated at 31,000 feet, discovered a site at Ahakista where a shoreline memorial garden was created, with a sundial made by Cork sculptor Ken Thompson. Every year since, on June 24th, in the garden, locals join relatives of the victims in remembering. The families float white balloons into the sky, and walk in silence. They recite the names of those they lost. This year, it's the 40th anniversary. And, a little later this year, we will also remember Nell, who died on August 21st last year.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Irish Times
39 minutes ago
- Irish Times
Kneecap's provocative poster campaign very much on-brand
The posters that appeared in London the day before Kneecap member Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh, aka Mo Chara's appearance in court on terrorism-related charges, were very much on-brand. Using the green, white and orange of the Tricolour, giant letters spell out 'More Blacks, More Dogs, More Irish, Mo Chara'. Strategically located near Westminster magistrates court, the three posters include a supersized 96-sheet and two 48-sheet billboards and are set to remain for two weeks. Also last Tuesday night, the same visual was projected on to three London buildings: Camden's Electric Ballroom, the location of the Kneecap performance last November that triggered the police investigation, as well as County Hall at Southbank and The Strand in central London. READ MORE The visual, says Ken Robertson, 'reclaims the language of historic exclusion as a message of solidarity, resistance, and cultural pride'. Irish immigrants to London in the 1950s and 1960s reported seeing 'No blacks, no dogs, no Irish' signs in boarding-house windows and it's a phrase that lives in the memory, thick with racism and bigotry. Robertson's agency, The Tenth Man, created the campaign and its instinctive alignment with the group's public image comes from a history of collaboration that goes back to 2018, long before the rap trio's fame exploded beyond Belfast. That was the year the agency was established in Dublin by Robertson and fellow advertising creative Richard Seabrooke. From the start it set up an annual list to pick out 20 'culture makers' doing interesting, meaningful and impactful work. That's how Kneecap came on its radar. In the past seven years the agency has collaborated with the Irish language rappers on music videos and political campaigns. Probably its most provocative – and headline grabbing – idea for Kneecap before this billboard campaign was for the Sundance Film Festival last year. The trio – Mo Chara, DJ Próvaí, real name JJ Ó Dochartaigh and Móglaí Bap, real name Naoise Ó Cairealláin – arrived at the festival where its Irish language film Kneecap was premiering in a replica RUC Land Rover. According to Robertson it is a movie prop, sourced for the stunt from an American film studio. [ Kneecap should be commended rather than condemned Opens in new window ] It's not hard to imagine that whatever modest outlay it took to get it to the festival was recouped multiple times over in the media exposure it helped the rappers from Northern Ireland win in the US and back home. The Tenth Man funded the London billboards because 'it views this campaign not just as solidarity, but as a defence of cultural freedom in a time of rising political censorship'. It floated several ideas past Dan Lambert, Kneecap's manager and this was chosen as the most impactful. Before setting up the agency, Robertson spent 18 years at Paddy Power, the gambling giant now part of Flutter Entertainment. He was its first marketing executive in 1999 – given the title of head of mischief – and he went on to create numerous provocative and controversial campaigns often in immediate reaction to events in the news or popular culture. It's a dubious distinction – which he would be the first to admit – but he created the UK's most complained about advertisement with the 2015 campaign that featured Paralympian Oscar Pistorius then on trial for the murder of his girlfriend Reeva Steenkamp. It offered punters their money back if he was cleared (he wasn't). Looking back at his work at Paddy Power, Robertson acknowledges that some of the campaigns 'haven't aged well' though he says the brand was the 'ultimate category challenger' with a target of mostly young men. The brief was to connect with them, often saying the things they thought but wouldn't say out loud. 'Am I 100 per cent proud of all the work [I did there]? No. What I did learn though is that there is a dotted line from that to Kneecap; to having the bravery to create a campaign that's provocative, that is going to land in the right place. It is always going to rub some people up the wrong way.' A knock-on benefit for The Tenth Man of creating such attention-grabbing messaging must also be the exposure it brings to the agency, which last year expanded into the UK with a London office. Its own logo is underneath the band's balaclava-inspired logo on the posters. The office in Spittalfields now employs six people while the Dublin office has grown to 60. The agency, he says, appeals to clients who value cultural relevance and want to communicate with a younger demographic. The brands it has done work for include Guinness, Rockshore, Jameson and Stella McCartney. 'We are known for our disruptive creative work across music, fashion and youth culture; we've built a reputation for backing artists who push against the grain.' [ Kneecap case: 'A woman pointed to a sniggering Móglaí Bap as the magistrate asked if anyone knew an Irish interpreter' Opens in new window ] A recent new business win is Three Ireland as the telecom's 'lead partner for creative channel marketing' (Boys and Girls is the company's brand agency). Concert goers who saw Kneecap last Thursday in Dublin's Fairview Park will also have seen the More Blacks, More Dogs, More Irish, Mo Chara visual. It was on pop-up billboards at the stage. So could it become part of the band's merchandise, for example on T-shirts? Why not, says Robertson, 'if someone wants to do it, please do. The message is there to be taken and amplified'. By the weekend Kneecap were still in the news with questions being asked in the UK as to whether the BBC would or should televise the rappers' upcoming Glastonbury set. The broadcaster then issued a statement saying filming will go ahead although its editorial guidelines, which among other things prohibit 'unjustifiably offensive language', must be adhered to. As to whether a publicity stunt similar to the London billboards is in the works for Glastonbury – it is after all a large audience – Robertson says nothing is planned, although an 'as yet' seems to hang in the air.
Irish Times
10 hours ago
- Irish Times
School principal jailed for indecent assault at Blackrock school described as ‘an ogre'
A former school principal convicted of the indecent assault of six boys over a 30-year period has been jailed for four years for some of these offences. Aidan Clohessy (85) was convicted of 19 counts of indecent assault following two separate trials at Dublin Circuit Criminal Court last month. Imposing sentence on Monday, Judge Elva Duffy said Clohessy was 'living a life full of good deeds during the day', but was also 'an ogre' who carried out 'what can only be described as atrocities at night time, when no one could see that behaviour'. Clohessy was the principal of St Augustine's School, Blackrock , Co Dublin, from the early 1970s until 1993. The six boys were all pupils of the school. Some were boarders at the school, which catered for boys with mild to moderate learning disability at that time. READ MORE The boys were aged between 10 and 13 when Clohessy's offending took place. The abuse primarily took the form of inappropriate touching, the court heard. In the first trial, Clohessy, with an address at the Hospitaller Order of St John of God, Granada, Stillorgan, Co Dublin, was convicted of 14 counts of indecent assault – 10 in relation to one boy and four in relation to a second boy on dates between 1983 and 1985. He was given a global sentence of four years in relation to the offending against these two injured parties. The judge noted Clohessy's age and health would make custody more challenging for him. The jury in the second trial returned guilty verdicts on five counts of indecent assault – two for one boy, and one count each in relation to three other boys. All this offending took place between 1969 and 1986. Clohessy was acquitted of three further counts of indecent assault. Having heard evidence in this case, Judge Martin Nolan adjourned the case overnight to consider sentence. Victim-impact statements were read to the court on behalf of all six injured parties. They outlined how the abuse affected their mental health, relationships, education and later employment opportunities. One man said: 'Brother Aidan, I don't forgive you but I don't judge you any more. That responsibility does not belong to me. 'One day, you will stand before the man you chose to serve. One day, you will stand before your maker, and on that day, you will be handed your judgment.' Another said he struggled to learn his wedding vows or to read his children a story. Clohessy was interviewed voluntarily by gardaí and denied wrongdoing. He acknowledged that corporal punishment was used in the school including by him. Clohessy told gardaí this included striking boys on their bare buttocks, but said this was only for the most serious offences and only of those boys who were residents at the school. The investigating gardaí agreed with Ronan Kennedy SC, defending, that his client was co-operative during the investigation. The garda further agreed that Clohessy has been the subject of adverse media publicity. Mr Kennedy told the court his client would not be appealing the jury's decision in either trial. Clohessy is originally from Co Limerick and entered the religious order after completing his Leaving Certificate in 1958. He initially trained as a psychiatric nurse and after some years working in this area retrained as a teacher. Clohessy started work at St Augustine's School in 1969, becoming principal in the mid-1970s. Mr Kennedy said his client served in roles on the provisional leadership team and was appointed in 1993 to lead a mission in Malawi to develop mental health services there, where he remained until 2013, when he returned to Ireland. Mr Kennedy asked the court to take into account his client will find custody more difficult due to his age and health issues.
Irish Times
11 hours ago
- Irish Times
Cathy Dillon: A reporter remembers the Air India Disaster of June 23rd, 1985
The date was June 24th, 1985, the day after the Air India disaster, when a terrorist bomb blew up a 747 jumbo jet in Irish airspace off the coast of West Cork, killing all 329 people on board. A wannabe journalist, straight out of college and working in the shambolic newsroom of a local pirate radio station, I had been sent by the head of news to report from Cork airport for the six o'clock evening bulletin. When I arrived at the normally sleepy airport terminal, lugging my enormous and ungainly tape recorder, I could hardly believe my eyes. Teams of army and navy personnel, security men and ambulance staff jostled with large crowds of reporters from news channels and papers throughout the world. Amid the throng, I spied Nell McCafferty, small in stature but definitely not in personality, instantly recognisable from the telly with her head of bushy grey hair. While the other reporters ran around in a tizzy, she stood and surveyed the scene coolly, her hands in the pockets of her jeans. I was awe struck – I had grown up reading her brilliant series of court reports, In the Eyes of the Law, in The Irish Times, and in our house we regularly used her wry TV sign-off phrase: 'Goodnight, Sisters' among ourselves, with a roll of our eyes, in response to some particularly egregious instance of chauvinism that had been brought to our attention. I somehow made myself walk over to her and introduce myself. Sensing I was slightly at a loss in this melee, Nell was kind enough to take the greenhorn under her wing. She had heard that some of the media were being taken out on helicopters to survey and photograph the crash scene. READ MORE 'Hello there,' she greeted the security officer. 'How are ya?' The man in the high-vis vest instantly recognised the face. 'Ah, 'tis yourself, Nell.' 'Listen, I was wondering is there any chance you could get me and the wee girl here out on one of the choppers?' The man in the high-vis vest looked dubious. 'Oh,' he said, shaking his head, 'I don't know. I don't think so.' Nell waited a few moments and then tried another tack. 'Did anyone ever tell you you're the image of Jack Nicholson?' she said flirtatiously. She turned to me, standing meekly beside her. 'Isn't he the head off Jack Nicholson?' I couldn't see the resemblance myself, but I wasn't about to argue. The crash site was 190km off the coast of Mizen, where Irish Naval Service crewmen, assisted by RAF and Royal Naval helicopters as well as merchant ships and fishing trawlers, were searching for bodies that could be returned to the victims' relatives. Nell was doing her best to get us right to the grim heart of the action. On this rare occasion, even Nell's charm couldn't prevail and I, at least, never got out on the helicopter. In truth, though of course I didn't say this to Nell, I was partly relieved. I left and went about finding others to talk to and filed my report by phone from the airport. I never met Nell afterwards, either, or got a chance to thank her, though I was lucky enough to share one space – the list of contributors' in Hot Press magazine – with her (and many others) in the late 1980s and early 1990s. The incident showed me that kindness and humour can survive in the bleakest of circumstances. Air India flight 182 was on its way from Toronto via Montreal to London and New Delhi, and the majority of the passengers were Canadians of Indian descent. The main suspects in the bombing were members of the Sikh militant group Babbar Khalsa. After a fraught investigation that lasted almost 20 years, in 2003 Inderjit Singh Reyat, a Canadian national, was sentenced to 15 years in prison for building the bomb that exploded aboard Flight 182 and another that went off prematurely at Narita airport in Tokyo and killed two baggage handlers. He was freed in February last year. In 2010, a report by a commission of inquiry found the victims' families had been left in a limbo by the Canadian government, and had 'often been treated as adversaries, as if they had somehow brought this calamity upon themselves'. After 25 years, the prime minister of the day, Stephen Harper, issued an apology on behalf of the government. The local people in West Cork, as is their wont, showed great compassion to the bereaved relatives who arrived immediately after the disaster and some struck up friendships with them that have lasted over the decades. Some of the families, seeking to find the nearest land point to where the plane disintegrated at 31,000 feet, discovered a site at Ahakista where a shoreline memorial garden was created, with a sundial made by Cork sculptor Ken Thompson. Every year since, on June 24th, in the garden, locals join relatives of the victims in remembering. The families float white balloons into the sky, and walk in silence. They recite the names of those they lost. This year, it's the 40th anniversary. And, a little later this year, we will also remember Nell, who died on August 21st last year.
