Latest news with #Thatcher
Sunday World
5 days ago
- Politics
- Sunday World
Priest who admitted role in IRA bombings and arms dealing dies in Dublin aged 95
Fr Patrick Ryan admitted his role in arming the IRA for a series of bombings on mainland Britain, including the attack on the Grand Hotel in Brighton A Catholic priest who admitted his role in arming the IRA for a series of bombings on mainland Britain, including the attack on the Grand Hotel in Brighton in 1984 targeting Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, has died. Fr Patrick Ryan had been accused of involvement in Provisional IRA activity in 1988 and had been the subject of two unsuccessful extradition attempts at a time when Mrs Thatcher called him 'a very dangerous man'. Fr Ryan, who was a native of Rossmore, Co Tipperary, died in Dublin on Sunday at the age of 95 following a short illness. He had been ordained as a priest in 1954 at the Pallottine College in Thurles and later served in Tanzania and London. In January 1990, he was dismissed from the Pallottine Fathers. He no longer had permission to say Mass or administer the sacraments. Becoming known as 'The Padre', he spent decades denying accusations, claiming he had raised money both inside and outside Europe for victims on the nationalist side in the Troubles but had 'never bought explosives for the IRA or anybody else' and had never been requested by the paramilitary group to do so. But the priest had allegedly become the main contact for many years between the IRA and one of its main sources of weaponry and finance — Muammar Gaddafi's Libyan regime. His meetings with Gaddafi were documented in journalist Jennifer O'Leary's book The Padre: The True Story of the Irish Priest Who Armed the IRA with Gaddafi's Money. Ryan was also the first priest to contest an election in Ireland, when he ran in the 1989 European Parliament election in the Munster constituency as an Independent with Sinn Fein support. He failed to be elected but received more than 30,000 votes. But it was his alleged role in supplying arms for the IRA that brought him under most scrutiny and caused a political storm between the UK, Belgium and the Republic of Ireland. He had been arrested in Belgium in 1988. Following the killing of three off-duty British servicemen in the Netherlands, a tip-off led Belgian police to an IRA sympathiser's home and to Ryan's arrest. He was believed to be the quartermaster of an active IRA unit in Belgium, a crucial logistical figure. Bomb-making equipment, manuals and a large sum of foreign currency were seized. Repatriated to Ireland, after going on hunger strike as the UK sought to bring him to trial, the country then refused to extradite him to the UK believing he would not receive a fair trial. Patrick Ryan being interviewed on Spotlight on The Troubles: A Secret History in 2019 (BBC) News in 90 seconds - 16th June 2025 Mrs Thatcher once described the cleric as having an 'expert knowledge of bombing' and, in 2019, in an interview for BBC's Spotlight on The Troubles: A Secret History, he was asked if he was involved in any of the incidents of which Mrs Thatcher had accused him, to which he responded: 'I would say most of them. One way or another, yes, I had a hand in most of them. Yes, she was right.' Asked if the PM was right to connect him to events such as the Brighton bomb, he replied: 'One hundred per cent.' Five people died when, on October 12, 1984, an IRA bomb exploded inside the Grand Hotel, where Margaret Thatcher's ruling Conservative Party was holding its annual conference. As the programme explored his key role in IRA arms shipments from Libya, he went on to take credit for introducing the organisation to a type of timer unit it used to set off bombs which he had discovered while in Switzerland. Asked if he had any regrets, Mr Ryan said: 'I regret that I wasn't even more effective, absolutely. I would have liked to have been much more effective, but we didn't do too badly.'
Belfast Telegraph
5 days ago
- Politics
- Belfast Telegraph
Priest who admitted role in IRA bombings and arms dealing dies aged 95
Fr Patrick Ryan had been accused of involvement in Provisional IRA activity in 1988 and had been the subject of two unsuccessful extradition attempts at a time when Mrs Thatcher called him 'a very dangerous man'. Fr Ryan, who was a native of Rossmore, Co Tipperary, died in Dublin on Sunday at the age of 95 following a short illness. He had been ordained as a priest in 1954 at the Pallottine College in Thurles and later served in Tanzania and London. In January 1990, he was dismissed from the Pallottine Fathers. He no longer had permission to say Mass or administer the sacraments. Becoming known as 'The Padre', he spent decades denying accusations, claiming he had raised money both inside and outside Europe for victims on the nationalist side in the Troubles but had 'never bought explosives for the IRA or anybody else' and had never been requested by the paramilitary group to do so. But the priest had allegedly become the main contact for many years between the IRA and one of its main sources of weaponry and finance — Muammar Gaddafi's Libyan regime. His meetings with Gaddafi were documented in journalist Jennifer O'Leary's book The Padre: The True Story of the Irish Priest Who Armed the IRA with Gaddafi's Money. Ryan was also the first priest to contest an election in Ireland, when he ran in the 1989 European Parliament election in the Munster constituency as an Independent with Sinn Fein support. He failed to be elected but received more than 30,000 votes. But it was his alleged role in supplying arms for the IRA that brought him under most scrutiny and caused a political storm between the UK, Belgium and the Republic of Ireland. He had been arrested in Belgium in 1988. Following the killing of three off-duty British servicemen in the Netherlands, a tip-off led Belgian police to an IRA sympathiser's home and to Ryan's arrest. He was believed to be the quartermaster of an active IRA unit in Belgium, a crucial logistical figure. Bomb-making equipment, manuals and a large sum of foreign currency were seized. Repatriated to Ireland, after going on hunger strike as the UK sought to bring him to trial, the country then refused to extradite him to the UK believing he would not receive a fair trial. PSNI say Portadown riots had 'more co-ordination' as mutual aid to be deployed this weekend Mrs Thatcher once described the cleric as having an 'expert knowledge of bombing' and, in 2019, in an interview for BBC's Spotlight on The Troubles: A Secret History, he was asked if he was involved in any of the incidents of which Mrs Thatcher had accused him, to which he responded: 'I would say most of them. One way or another, yes, I had a hand in most of them. Yes, she was right.' Asked if the PM was right to connect him to events such as the Brighton bomb, he replied: 'One hundred per cent.' Five people died when, on October 12, 1984, an IRA bomb exploded inside the Grand Hotel, where Margaret Thatcher's ruling Conservative Party was holding its annual conference. As the programme explored his key role in IRA arms shipments from Libya, he went on to take credit for introducing the organisation to a type of timer unit it used to set off bombs which he had discovered while in Switzerland. Asked if he had any regrets, Mr Ryan said: 'I regret that I wasn't even more effective, absolutely. I would have liked to have been much more effective, but we didn't do too badly.'
Sunday Post
6 days ago
- Politics
- Sunday Post
Louise Gilmour: We need more leaders who are willing to utter the most offensive word in politics
Get a weekly round-up of stories from The Sunday Post: Thank you for signing up to our Sunday Post newsletter. Something went wrong - please try again later. Sign Up It may not be the most offensive word that springs to mind when considering our political leaders but, to them at least, U-turn is the worst. Kissing babies? No problem. Pot-shotting opponents? Sure thing. Admitting a cherished policy is not, after all, a work of political genius but a piece of junk? Dream on. Spinning 180 degrees not only highlights backfiring legislation, politicians fear, but exposes a weakness, a willingness to cave under criticism. Their concern is understandable but misplaced because our country needs more policy-makers willing to heed concern, acknowledge mistakes, reverse, and repair the damage. Like so many things still shaping our politics today, Margaret Thatcher did the damage when famously insisting: 'You turn if you want to. The lady's not for turning.' It was malarkey, of course – the lady turned when she had to – but it cemented the notion that U-turns are for faint-hearts and fearties. © PA Coincidentally, our union's annual congress last week was in Brighton, where Thatcher delivered her big line to the Tory conference in 1980. The chancellor, Rachel Reeves, fresh from her own U-turn on winter fuel payments for pensioners, was with us on Tuesday to announce a huge investment in nuclear power. The UK Government plans to spend £14 billion on a new plant at Sizewell C, in Suffolk, creating a baseload of safe, clean and secure energy and thousands of skilled, well-paid, unionised jobs. A huge investment with huge benefits, for energy, for jobs, for communities. For England. Here? The sound of silence. Or rather the sound of First Minister John Swinney harrumphing before insisting that new nuclear energy will never, ever get a green light from the SNP. No, Scottish ministers will continue to pursue renewables, continue promising a greener tomorrow, and will, according to research from Robert Gordon University, continue doing so while 200 jobs are lost in our oil and gas industries every week for the next five years. The UK and Scottish governments' failure to effectively support an offshore sector that is on the brink must change too, of course, and escalating speculation suggests the scale and speed of the looming jobs catastrophe, offshore and in supply chains, is pushing ministers to reconsider. Well, that and Nigel Farage promising that if they don't, he will. That rethink cannot happen soon enough but, meanwhile, the SNP's refusal to even consider nuclear energy's potential is an abdication of responsibility. It makes no sense if ministers want to achieve net-zero targets and it makes no sense if they want Scotland's economy to grow again. This, of course, is the same government that recently refused to support an industry-leading welding school on Clydeside because skills learned there will help build nuclear-powered submarines for the Royal Navy. © Jordan Pettitt/PA Wire Ministers explained, with straight faces, that while they understood the need for Britain's armed forces, they could not, in good conscience, arm them. They oppose nuclear weapons too, of course, while promising an independent Scotland will join Nato, a nuclear alliance. John Healey, the UK defence secretary, said the refusal to support young Rolls-Royce welders on the Clyde was not the decision of a serious government and compared it to student union politics. He was being unfair to the students. On defence spending and nuclear energy, the Scottish Government seems happy to burnish its principles while shunning the opportunity to reboot our industrial capability, defend our country, secure our energy and create thousands of good jobs for our children and our children's children. Politicians with principles are to be welcomed (and encouraged to breed) but as the economist John Maynard Keynes almost said, when the facts change, principles should change too. Well, the facts have changed, in Washington, in Moscow, on defence spending, and on nuclear power. It is time for the Scottish Government's ban on nuclear, its pearl-clutching queasiness over defence, and its apparent disdain for creating skilled, secure jobs to change too. You turn if you want to but, in Edinburgh, ministers must. Louise Gilmour is GMB Scotland secretary
Daily Mail
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Megyn Kelly reveals her greatest parenting regret: 'It haunts me'
Megyn Kelly confessed her decision to have children later in life 'haunts' her because it means she will have less time with them. Kelly, 54, admitted her feelings during an interview on The Dr. Jordan B. Peterson Podcast earlier this month. The two discussed the increasing age at which women have children and the impact that being an older mom can have. Kelly, who had her first child in 2009 at the age of 38, admitted there are downsides to having children later in life. 'Unfortunately, and believe me, I think about it all the time, it means that my children and I have a shorter runway together, and I hate that fact. It haunts me,' she said. 'I'm so grateful that I have them at all, you know, unlike so many women who weren't this fortunate, but I hate the fact that every time we talk about their lives, I'm calculating, you know, it's his age plus 42. 'That's what I'll be, you know, when my youngest has his children, and boy, my kids better have kids young if they want me to be part of that child's life.' Kelly married her husband Douglas Brunt, 53, in 2008, and they share three children together: Yates, 15, Yardley, 14 and Thatcher, 12. The radio show host said she did not plan on being an older mom, but believes it has had a positive effect on her children. 'I didn't reach that place in my life until I was older, and unfortunately, it wasn't planned this way because I didn't meet my husband till we were 35,' she said. 'I have no regrets about how I did it, but I also acknowledge it's not all roses and unicorns. There are downsides to doing it the way I did. 'I really think that the calm I've brought to motherhood, the life lessons, the wisdom has been a boon to my children who are calm and cool.' Women are having their first child older than ever, according to new data that suggests the already-shrinking US fertility rate could see further declines. A new CDC report analyzing births from 2016 through 2023 found that the average age of first-time moms rose by nearly a year - from 26.6 years old in 2016 to 27.5 years old in 2023. Similar increases were also observed among women having their second and third children, with the average age at birth rising by one year for second births and just short of a year for third and higher-order births. In 2020, Kelly announced she removed her three children from their private New York City schools and relocated to Connecticut. Her sons attended the $55,900-a-year Collegiate School on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Her daughter is believed to have attended the $57,385-a-year Spence School on the Upper East Side. 'We loved our schools,' she said. 'Loved our teachers, loved the students and faculty and parents. 'They were definitely leftist - we are more center right - but that was fine; my whole family are Democrats. 'But then they went hard left, and then they started to take a really hard turn toward social justice stuff.'
Telegraph
14-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Adam Curtis's thrilling, maddening and soul-destroying portrait of a faithless, jaded nation
To try to explain what Adam Curtis's latest documentary series is about is like trying to build an igloo out of jelly. In one sense, Shifty (BBC iPlayer) has a simple premise – a jaunty yet thumpingly depressing trot through 20 years of British politics and economics (1979-1999), from Thatcher and monetarism to Blair and the Private Finance Initiative. It is, as the blurb has it, about how 'extreme money and hyper-individualism… undermined the fundamental structures of mass democracy'; it's about how and why British society is now so fragmented, atomised and siloed. Yet that barely scratches the surface of this gloriously obtuse series. It's like being talked at for six hours by a coked-up bipolar genius at an aggressively loud house party. It is a thrilling, maddening, brilliant and soul-destroying portrait of a faithless, jaded nation. As the five episodes take us chronologically through 20 years of British economic policy, leaning heavily on Thatcher's premiership, Shifty has a more traditional shape than many of Curtis's other works (Hypernormalisation, Can't Get You Out of My Head). It also does not feature Curtis's languid, oft-parodied voiceover, relying instead on his trademark stark-white subtitles to give some shape to his traditional carnival of scintillatingly edited archive footage. There is less of the nightmarish incongruousness that marks his work, but it's no less chilling and disorienting for it. There is still plenty, however, of Curtis's mind-boggling leaps. In the first episode, introducing us to Thatcher's policy of monetarism – reduce the amount of money circulating, inflation falls, wages stabilise, industry booms – you'll spend a long time scratching your head wondering what links the death of the Irish author JG Farrell, the remains of a Second World War fighter pilot found in a bog in Sheppey, a transgender dog called Bruno, the National Front and the cheese and onion crisp production line at the Golden Wonder factory. Each episode is like a Magic Eye picture – you just have to relax your eyes and stare and stare and stare. It all comes clear eventually. Well, some of it. The rest of the series is a phantasmagoria of 1980s and 1990s home video and documentary and news footage, with Stephen Hawking, the Old Kent Road, hairdressers, the Duke of Westminster and house parties becoming surreal recurring themes. The picture it paints of the UK, then and now, is utterly bleak, with our institutions being shown as at best hollow. The police come out particularly badly – anyone wincing at Donald Trump's recent heavy-handed approach to protestors will be agog at the scenes of police violence here, while one sequence in which detectives in Reading interview a female rape victim is horrifying. Despite this, Curtis finds an impish gallows humour in the decaying remains of 150 years of British exceptionalism. The first image we see, for instance, is Jimmy Savile introducing some schoolchildren to Thatcher, while a segment on the synthetised pop music of the 1980s warns us not to trust the past because it can be edited, remixed and repackaged – before launching into a pastiche of Curtis's documentaries. Those unconvinced by him will find it all simplistic and cynical, but Curtis has never claimed to be a historian. Instead, Shifty is a remarkable, unreliable and potent chronicle of a society in freefall. 'We are living [Thatcher's] version of Churchill's version of British history,' says Patrick Cosgrave, Thatcher's closest adviser. Shifty is Curtis's version.
