In 1975 Paddy Armstrong and three others were convicted of murdering seven people, bombing two pubs and assisting in reconnaissance for the IRA. The Guildford Four were found guilty, despite the absence of witnesses and forensic evidence.
At the young age of 24, Paddy went to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. He was released in 1989. This year is the 30th anniversary of the bombing. Now 52, Paddy lives the quiet life of a househusband, caring for his two children in a Dublin suburb.
Looking at him in the bosom of his family it’s extremely difficult to imagine that this man has served 15 years in prison, suffered two nervous breakdowns and overcome a drug addiction.
His wife, a local schoolteacher, beams at him and remarks, “There’s not a bitter bone in that man’s body.” Meanwhile, Paddy gently picks up his sleeping infant daughter and moves her to another room, all the time chatting to his inquisitive five-year-old son.
Paddy has never had much of a media presence. The faces of the Guildford Four have always been Gerry Conlon and Paul Hill. Since being released from jail he’s only had one television appearance and two interviews with reporters, and he agreed to this interview provided his personal details remain vague.
As we leave his house to walk to his local, every person in the street nods or gives a friendly greeting as they pass by. I comment that he seems to be a celebrity in his own right. “I’m no celebrity,” he scoffs, “but me and Gerry had some good times.
“I’ve always kept in the shadows, out of the limelight you know. As far as I’m concerned my life’s my own and that’s the way I want to live it.”
Even so, Paddy has not always lived the secluded life. Some time after leaving prison he went to visit Gerry for a weekend in London. He ended up staying for over two years.
He tells me tales of their travels to India, how they drove from New York to Los Angeles, then toured South Africa and most of Europe.
Eventually they were tracked down by Jim Sheridan to work with him on In the Name of the Father, the film adaptation of Gerry’s book Proved Innocent. Paddy then returned to Ireland in 1993 to work as a consultant on the film, and has never left.
The stories of these wild years would make veteran party animals proud. Every night there were parties, on to Lillies and then the Pink Elephant. Once, towards the end of a night in Lillies, he heard people calling “Paddy Armstrong! Come here!” Turning around he found the Rolling Stones beckoning him to come sit with them. “It was a mad time.”
Laughing at my reaction to this, he sips his pint. “I was meeting people I’d never have met and getting into places that I’d never have gotten into if I wasn’t part of the Guildford Four.”
However, it wasn’t all merrymaking and fun for Paddy. In 1996 he revealed that he was doing cocaine seven days a week. Years after being released from prison he was still having difficulties with salvaging any kind of normal life. “Planning ahead is very hard to do,” he said, “because in jail you didn’t have to; you were never going anywhere and you didn’t have to think about the next day until it came.”
For a man who lost 15 years of his life he has amazing optimism. While in jail in Reading, he was sentenced to six months in solitary confinement. He orders another drink; I quiz him about the mental anguish and strength needed to get through such an ordeal. “Solitary’s a great place for reading,” Paddy chuckles. “I read War and Peace twice ‘cause it was the longest book I could find.”
However, these injustices weigh heavily on his mind. In 2000 a law student from Trinity interviewed him. When she asked him about the case he bluntly said that the golden thread of law, ‘innocent until proven guilty’, was in reverse in their case. For them it was ‘guilty until proven innocent’. He still believes that they “would have gone to jail no matter what”.
After considering my questions during the friendly banter with the men at the bar, he says, “You’re locked up. You either did it or didn’t do it. The time flew quick. I thought it was slow at the time but it went very quick in fact.” Looking out the window I sense he does not wish to continue this line of conversation.
His wife tells me how they lead a simple life now. Paddy looks after the kids and then often goes to his local for a few beers in the evening. “I’m always going to be Paddy Armstrong, one of the Guildford Four,” he says. “Sure when there are bombs going off people always ask, ‘Hey! Paddy where were you last night?’ And sure even in my local they call me ‘the Brit’. If you didn’t take a slagging then what’s the point of living? You have to laugh about it too.”
When I question him on Tony Blair’s apology he considers his pint, puts it down purposefully. “You have to admire the man for doing it,” he says. “He took a big chance. The wife is delighted. To me that was the final chapter in the book. My mum unfortunately wasn’t around to see it, but at the end of the day I think we’ve all come out all right. We’re part of history now.”
Paddy’s wife is very proud of her husband’s achievements. She told me that she once asked her first year students what they thought the Spirit of Christmas was. “I think the Spirit of Christmas is Paddy Armstrong,” said one student. “One day me and my friends had no money and he bought us chips.” His wife smiles with a tear in her eye looking at Paddy. “It sounds corny but that’s just how he is,” she says.
Paddy Armstrong has had 15 years taken from him. He feels that no compensation can ever replace that. However, he has a happy home and is content. His family are the most important thing to him now.
When his son asks “did them bold men put you in prison for robberies?” he always replies yes. “When he’s old enough and I’m ready I’ll tell him my story and what happened to me.”
I ask him to comment further on his legal rights and what else he feels should be done. He smiles. “Life is too short to worry about it now,” he says. “When you get the chance you have to take your life.
“There are always people worse off than us. Same as Mandela. Look at him, and he became the president of a country. If he can do it then any of us can do it.” He closes his eyes chortling to himself. “You never know, I might go for President.”