‘One month on, a few thoughts on Martin’ by Liam McConway

One month ago Derry and Ireland laid to rest a giant of a man, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a brother and a friend. Much has been written and spoken about Martin and a lot of it was nonsense. The common narrative of many who either didn’t understand Martin or actually disliked him, is that there were two Martin Mc Guinnesses. The “bad” IRA man Martin and the “good” political Martin who somehow had a road to Damascus transformation in his latter life.

As I said, that narrative is nonsense and many who write this actually know it to be untrue. You see, to give Martin any credit for his endeavours and bravery while defending his community would mark him as a man of substance who loved his people. How could this be true? They’d rather have a demagogue.

Martin Mc Guinness did, I believe, lead two very different lives throughout his days on this earth. Born into an ordinary working class family in the Bogside, Martin was one of 7 siblings. As a child he ran around the local streets near his home and, like any child his age, he fell and busted his knees and had his nose wiped by his mother Peggy and father William. He had a big brother and little brothers who he looked up to and defended like any brother would. Poor Geraldine, as the only girl of the 7, must have been at her wits’ end with so many boys around her. But I’d hazard to guess she was the favourite of them all.

Martin’s life really then was not unusual. He kicked a ball with his “muckers”, went to the local schools and probably ran free as a bird all over his mother’s beloved Illes, County Donegal, catching salmon down by the Crana river. However, fate would have it that Martin was born in May 1950. This meant that by October 5th 1968 he was 18 years of age and change was in the air. The fallout from that day had a profound effect on Martin. He took to the streets with his friends to demand a vote, justice, jobs and decent homes for his people. He saw young unarmed men gunned down on the streets of the Bogside by British thugs and made a decision like many others before him, from Cork to Kerry to Dublin to Belfast, and in the Warsaw Ghettos or Occupied France. That decision was to take up arms against an army.

Why should he or the aforementioned Irish republicans and partisans of Poland and France be looked on as different from each other? Martin never shirked his responsibility to defend his community and thus began the life of a revolutionary soldier and politician. Martin’s vision was one of a free independent Ireland where everyone Catholic, Protestant and Dissenter would be treated as equals. When the time came to map a political route to achieve his dream, he threw himself into that role with the same rigour that saw him take on the might of the British armed forces on the streets of his city.

Martin never disowned or denied this part of his life as an IRA volunteer but knew when it was time to take a different route. During all of this Martin went on to marry the love of his life and “his rock” and together they raised their 4 children. The same 4 children ran around the local streets, fell and busted their knees and had their noses wiped by Bernie and Martin. Martin loved his family deeply and it was common knowledge that no matter where he was if he could make it back to Derry then he went home, even if that meant he only had a few hours there before going on the road again. Now that he has departed us, the naysayers and blue shirts have decided not to allow Martin to rest in peace. They shout aloud. How dare the Republican movement and community inscribe “Óglach” on Martin’s headstone, How dare 50,000 people attend his funeral and how dare the people of Derry and Ireland hold him in such high esteem.

To them I say this, Martin was an Óglach, Martin was a soldier and Martin was a peacemaker. Joe Duffy, Marian Finucan, Miriam O’Callaghan and their esteemed colleagues in Dublin 4 will never change that fact. Martin’s name will long be remembered and will have its place alongside that of Pearse, Connolly, Tone and Sands, be sure of that. When he said himself “my heart lies in the Bogside” little did he realise how much the Bogside, Derry and Ireland would miss him. We owe a lot to Martin Mc Guinness. Martin is gone but he lives still in our hearts and in the narrow streets of the Bogside and further afield. I will never forget the visits he paid to my late brother in law when he was ill and how he lifted his spirits. All of this was done without fuss or seeking thanks.

Finally I believe we are on the cusp of achieving his dream. Imagine a free independent Ireland for all of us no matter our religion. No better epitaph could a man ask for. Sleep well Martin. To his wife Bernie, his children Fionnuala, Grainne, Fiachra and Emmett, his grandchildren and all the Mc Guinness family thank you for sharing him with us.