Perhaps the consequent integration, confidence and community spirit resulted in the frontier town being spared much of the bigotry and sectarian tensions and conflict that have stigmatised so many parts of the North, over the past 30 years.

However, the `Sunday Times,’ tried to equate the situation in Newry with that of Dungannon, whose urban council was notorious for anti-Catholic discrimination, - as “two sides of the same coin.” Senator Paud Mallon, managing-editor of our newspaper chain, based in the Co Tyrone town, tipped me off that a journalist from the English newspaper, who had been in Dungannon, would be visiting the frontier town, in order to “dig up the dirt.”

The final elections to the Council took place in 1967, when Irish Labour captured nine of the 18 seats; Newry Labour got three, while the unionists had six. There was a tie for chairman, between Tommy McGrath of the ILP and Tommy Markey. The two names were put into a hat, and the latter was successful. However, the situation was reversed the next year; and Pat McMahon became the last chairman of Newry Urban Council, abolished in 1971, after councillors had boycotted meetings in protest at Internment.

A superb politician, with a commanding presence, and a long memory, which he used to disarm critics, Tommy Markey was involved in many controversies. Yet, even after an angry debate in the council chamber, he could wrap an arm round the shoulder of opponents, and invite them over to the Labour Club (now Kehoe’s car showrooms) in Patrick Street. There the erstwhile rivals would be involved in good-nature “slagging.”

The only real animosity was between the two Tommies, - Markey, the abrasive ex-soldier, favourite of the Stormont government, honoured by the Queen, - and McGrath, dedicated socialist and disciple of James Connolly. From his rostrum, the chairman would describe his opponent as “our own wee Red,” telling Cllr McGrath to “sit down, little man,” and declare: “You may believe that your ancestors climbed down from the trees, but mine certainly did not!”

Such prominence would have been far from the dreams of the barefoot boy, son of a blacksmith, who worked at Bessbrook Mill for 16 shillings per week. The workers had two slices of bread for dinner. Like other boys, Tommy could only afford to wear shoes on Sundays. They would lie in wait for carts to bump over the tramlines, so as to grab lumps of dislodged coal. And hunger would drive them out to the country, stealing turnips and spuds, which they roasted.

This ebullient personality recalled how most people had to go to the “old workhouse” for medical attention, as “only the elite went to the General Hospital.” Later, as council chairman, he led many delegations to Stormont, seeking a proper hospital in place of the “glorified workhouse.” The present modern complex at Daisyhill could be a monument to such dedication.

The late Tommy Markey, - uncle of another council chairman, Eugene Markey (RIP), - also described how men on outdoor relief had been “far from fit, but were put on heavy labouring tasks. They suffered from malnutrition, and some even had to be carried off the job.

“That was why, when the Labour Party got control, we decided to clean up the town, and make it fit for the good people of Newry, Catholic and Protestant. Our children are equal to anybody; they can hold their heads high. And nothing delights me more, when walking down the street, than to see everybody’s child as well-dressed as the rest.”

And he added: “I have been accused by some people of having sided too much with the Unionist government. But could we have achieved so much for the town, in housing and other developments, if we had been aggressive and non co-operative?”

Dramatically, in 1969, Tommy Markey, M.B.E, went through a Damascus-like conversion. The burning of houses at Bombay Street in Belfast, plus the excesses of the `B` Specials, and the repressive attitude of the Stormont government towards the Catholic community, catapulted that darling of the unionist establishment into appearing on platforms with Old IRA veterans, nationalist politicians and former ILP colleagues.

Only three members of Newry Urban Council still survive, - Gerry Mulholland (Newry Labour), Colman Rowntree (Irish Labour) and Aubrey Wylie (Unionist). Indeed, the latter was typical of the good relations on the council, as he walked in the front row of the Civil Rights March at Newry in 1969, alongside the chairman of the urban council, Pat McMahon.

Mr Rowntree, a former boxing champion and bookie’s clerk, said that “despite our differences, all the councillors worked smoothly together. Politics were left outside the council chamber. We regarded ourselves as representatives of the people, dedicated to providing a service. And though Mr Markey and I would have been poles apart politically, I had a sneaking regard for him as a great wit.”

For Gerry Mulholland, two main achievements stand out, - the opening of the swimming pool, “as many young people were getting drowned in the quarries,” and the visit of British Home Secretary, James Callaghan to the frontier town in 1969.

“When I discovered that our town was not included in Mr Callaghan’s itinerary, as chairman of Newry branch of the Northern Ireland Labour Party I pointed out that we were an unemployment blackspot, which had been by-passed for industrial development. The Home Secretary changed his schedule; and I had the honour of escorting him around the town.”

Thirty years have passed since Newry and Mourne district council came into being, containing only one member of Newry Urban Council, the late Tommy McGrath, and one from Warrenpoint UDC, Jim McCart. We can look back with appreciation at the dedication of those unpaid public representatives. They had charge of housing, water, sewerage, roads, port, canal, markets, gas supplies, recreational facilities, etc., - working in harmony for the welfare of the people.

< Previous Page